The wind blowing through this open frame
is cold - cutting - like a broken heart in a winter's storm.
And it can't be shut, due to too much misuse. Nor
can it be fixed, due to makeshift solutions,
which only give way when integrity is
put through trials of judgment and raw force.
The cold -cutting- sensation can't be covered
with blankets, layers, or unfamiliar arms
wrapped tightly. All desperate attempts to find lost warmth.
It still seeps in like a shadow at midnight:
inexplicable, yet frightful and
unstoppable as time itself.
Simon coined the term when he was
finding his Graceland, as we all attempt to find our
own when times seem to grow their darkest,
"(They say) that losing love is like a window in your heart,
everybody sees your blown apart."
Futility is defined with an attempt to prevent the
memories of long August days, which
were foolishly believed to have no end.
That which can be done to prevent the pain is the hardest, yet
only option: wait for the cold to pass.
Yet while the solstice which marks the
change of waiting into remembrance approaches,
any passerby; man, woman or child,
can see without a vestige of obscurity
that there's no possibility of keeping out the frozen air.
Only a wish, like that upon a star or a candle, or only a wish
like that which takes place at the
eleventh moment of the eleventh hour,
can give us a hope that one day we may find
- an acknowledgment and a message of extreme gratitude must be given to Paul Simon, for his song "Graceland" off of the album of the same title.