Again,
one bike,
one shadow,
one long winding path ahead.
Spring is here again:
silhouettes of rowers gliding along;
geese flying overhead;
blossoms - white, red and pink,
scattering in the wind;
and the golden rays
trickling through petals
slowly turning a crimson hue,
bleeding into the river.
Beauty unshared
is heartbreaking.
And then a fall;
I feel only the jolt,
not the blood nor pain,
wishing only someone would care,
but knowing
no one will.
Three cupids playing a silent song,
frozen in stone,
forgotten by us.
High on their pedestals, they remain
ideals we cannot reach.
And beneath them we pass,
treading on
fallen petals.
