Reality

He leaves again
His chariot kicks clouds of dust
     From the ground as the whip cracks.

There are no tears
Instead she notices that the trees are budding
She walks the perimeter of the castle grounds
     Hacking at old growth as she goes
          With her sword.
     Wonders if the daisies will bloom this year
     If the roses froze over and should be yanked
          From their home and thrown away
     Something new grown in their stead?

He weathered many seasons with her
But spring was too much
     The confidence of new growth
     Too intimidating
History only important
     In regards to what it could teach
Clinging to it, from her vantage point
     A sure way to only grow
     The same things, every year.

Rejection settles in.
     Relief beside it.
Relief?
Yes, she thinks, relief.
The years are less than kind
     Wrinkles and weight
     The number 40 fast approaching
Who wants to worry so much about looks?
Just let him go, she thinks.
She wants to enjoy the trees and the flowers
     The small children running about
Find some sort of satisfaction in her daily work
Let her head fall
     On a soft pillow at night
Wake to sunshine.
     Good friends and a glass of wine.