Missing More

"Like old, cellared wine
Left under the bar
The more he indulges
The more intoxicated he gets.."

Frostbitten touch as cold as ice
Her bitter lips embalmed with lies
A hushed whisper of autumn leaves
He moves lightly on mild-steel greaves

Sitting unshaded under a limped palm tree
The shore outstretched with the stormy sea
His mind battered by torrents of rain
The conscience eaten by guilt-ridden pain

Fine grains of sand shimmer with silver
Overshadowed by a shade of black
Dark clouds form like a growing mob
Rumbling, chanting, waiting to attack

Her image sticks inside his head
Never alive nor truly dead
For a while she is there to stay
A mere second before walking away

His arms flail like a drowning man
That buoy of hope will never be thrown
Marooned on a barren, rocky land
A fate worse than being stoned

All this while she denied him thrice
Her loath can be seen in her eyes
He tucks himself in silent despair
Melancholy fills the silent air

Watching the passive world go by
Broken tears that make him cry
Like shattered dreams of a prodigy
Every shard reflects his misery