Rotting Oaks

She's grown to know the coldest day
     is colder still, inside
for "midst this home, a castaway
      was once a lovely bride,
and somewhere 'neath his "bottled" rage
      there'd been a loving man
and now her love cannot assuage
      the flood his thirst began.

Its damp there 'mid the mossy oaks,
      their softness, dead and cold,
and yet they pale amid the hoax
      her hardened heart now holds.
Where once they shared in laughter's joy
      she takes in nature's grief,
how things devine can oft destroy
      the good beyond belief.

These giants here eclipse the ache
      adrift amid her mind.
If only love could reawake
      or she could hit rewind,
and maybe draw the poison out
      that haunts his weary vains,
like memories and bitter doubt,
      the anchors 'midst his chains

She's grown to know the coldest day
      is colder still, inside
for "midst this home, a castaway
      was once a lovely bride,
and somewhere 'neath his "bottled" rage
      there'd been a loving man
and now her love cannot assuage
      the flood his thirst began.