Ordinary Person

There’s no point obsessing over
what’s done, visiting those
haunted corridors where the
ghosts of yesterday project
spectral visions into the vast
spaces of the mind,
what was and who we were
doesn’t matter anymore,
those people are gone,
replaced by a couple
holding on to the meagre hope
that’s left once illusion fades,
taking with it daydreams of
halcyon days and purple sunsets,
of hand-holding and walking
through the verdant green
scented by hyacinths and magnolias.
What we now have is truth
in its rawest form, stripped off
sugar-coating and sentimentality
and it can either make or kill us,
so, we might as well look
past the ideas we had of each
other and touch the core,
the place devoid of metaphor
and superfluous verse,
the region that both burns and heals,
a baptism of fire, a cleansing
by pain, a breaking that slowly
rebuilds, brick by brick.