THIS WORLD OF ONES

IN THE STILL OF THE KNIGHT Now that you are gone, WHO will every morn, lift the sun, unveil the sky, etch in the clouds? WHO will paint the rainbow? Now that 'US' is just a word. No longer with you as ONE, alone I try to wind up the metal toys, and cut out paper dolls, but with the beach swept from under my feet the child in me flees. Instead now rusted, a fools gold chain of loneliness hangs around my neck like a noose. Mourns a union that once had breath, a twosome, that now is dead. AND the moon no longer smiles, the stars no longer wink. In this decade of one, hope is a wick less candle AND THE NIGHT IS JUST THE DAY WITH OUT LIGHT. Armand Hamouth