A Melancholy Voyage

The beginning of things is the most entrancing time,
the thrall of captivating newness, the heady unknown,
which flies us across the heavens, 
until we wake, a year later,
to the reality of being two people, 
who now have to make our way forward, in tandem.
I made this journey more than once, until I grew weary,
my heart  battered and blue from the passage,
cerulean desert, with thorns, and a ripple of bleeding.
We kindred souls on the voyage 
from hope to disillusion
may mock, but the melody of our souls is melancholy,
for all that we once dreamed, that did not come to be.

The ending of things is a revisiting,
a summing up, a coming to terms.
It is fraught with emotion, regret, acceptance
and, finally, surrender: it was what it was.
Once we were spring, and hopeful,
and now we are autumn, our leaves crinkled.
We are slowly becoming one with the earth,
resignation our address, as the great Wheel 
turns and churns us along.
We cartwheel across the landscape of memory -
hand - foot - arm - leg  landing us
in one shimmering scene after another
till we can take it no longer -  
the inexorably gradual fading of our lives
against the radiance of all that we once  hoped 
they might be.
And I wish it had all been so different, while I embrace
the grand design, the inevitability, the rightness
of all that it was.

My attempt at a guided poem, as outlined at Metaphors and Smiles.  I thought it might help jog some writing loose, and, as always, am surprised where it took me. I will link this to the Poetry Pantry this week, and look forward to seeing you all there!