Forgotten

Items on your shelf or left in a room
you never enter leave my mark upon you.
What could I do to change your heart
when it was already changing from its
Spring hue to Summer where freedom
is most preferrable to the shackels
of love and liking the way her hand
felt on your cheek or the way she
smiled to tell you she needed you.
None of those things mattered when
the world called you from your cave
a Tarzan or a Robinson Carusoe.
No, her steady care and her gradual
hope of love meant nothing and she
like any other that you turned away
left you to bury yourself in plain
jane ordinary site, no longer a treasure.
Will the dirt from New York or wherever
you have traveled rub off and let that
particular shine of yours show through
or are you forever tarnished by time
and a too long absence from happiness?
I do not know love, no, I only know
that the silence left me sorrowful
and the absence left me like a child
listening for the 7 notes of music
that should have been the purveyor
of Summers sweetness, but he did
not kindly stop for me.