Only One Who Cries

Peeling paint and broken doors
meet a shattered gaze
of a silent one, a gentle one
standing on a splintered porch
wondering where the people went
the memories
the dreams

Nothing left but a cobwebbed past
windows without panes of glass
and twisted, rotting trees
bent by the cruel, merciless hand of time
deaf to silent screams of what doesn't want
or need
to change

Seems like yesterday
tossed out upon the blackened street
unwanted, unloved
forced to find her own way
a different way
to be

So much time has passed now
no phone call, letter, or card
thinking, hoping, wishing
he would forget
his memory washed clean
of the daughter, the girl, the soul
he broke apart and tossed into the winds

Now standing here, looking up at what once was
it seems so horribly obvious, so clear
that he did forget, that he never cared
leaving each and every single thing behind
including the remembrances of long ago

He took it all away
each and every thing that belonged to her
her books, her clothes, her figurines
maybe he burned it
or threw it away
just like he threw her away
upon the rainy, cold, harsh day

Why did she come back?
What did she hope to gain?
She sits upon the sagging step
and begins to realize
when she finally dies
she's the only one who will cry.