Another Irony on Fire

Sometimes, you have to set aside broken things
and take flight. Words I speak more to myself
than anyone else. They resonate in depths
threatening to burst from my chest.

These words come not from the pipes that won't play
or behind the dreamer's gaze, but straight from the place
that often brings us here.

You spoke this language once. Head held to mine,
heart fluttering and yet afraid of all you stood to lose.
Indecision breeds poetry, so does misery and discontent.

Dreamers are born of the same recipe,
but eventually the words stopped flowing
and you were gone.
I can only hope the dreamer in you
no longer yearns in vein.  

Bad timing is one of life’s great ironies.
I may have been able to replenish your losses,
but my world was still burning
from the war at home.

Now as the smoke clears and my aim becomes true
I am saddened by what could’ve been
had time only smiled upon us.