He has shaken her off of his shoulders
Like the crumbs of walnut shell,
Feeding the fallen, wounded squirrel,
Aimlessly turning around in a circle,
Tripping on the fresh trimmed branches.
In a comfort of his daily routine,
He walked slowly, between his marvelous creations of lights,
While she tried to make a revolutionary movement.
As when the ball hits a post
In a momentum of a hope,
To the opponent team.
The conviction for the last chance to win,
Having driven her unsuccessfully, but stubbornly.
He defeated her and used as a rag to wipe out his needs.
Like the worthless fact from the history book,
Written by the struggling writer,
Waiting for success.
The dice has rolled away,
And the game came to its end.
She donated her heart to his palm,
Tired of a rough, unfair game rules,
She pleaded to hold her life together.
He put away his judge hat,
Crumbled the pledge of the heartache,
And toasted in the winds of the past.
He took her in his arms, gently,
Like a fragile butterfly.