INCOMPLETE....

WHEN WERE THE DELICATE BEANS SPILLED,FROM JARS OF DISCRETION?
AND STOLEN WITH DELIGHT, EACH CONVINCED; OF ITS SECRECY.
WHEN THE MOON COMFORTED AND THE RIGORS OF THE DAY,
FELL ASLEEP IN THE INNOCUOUS NIGHT.
BRIGHT,TRUE, WERE THE COLORS OF THE NIGHT.
AND EVEN IN BLACK THERE WAS LIGHT..
ALAS THOSE DAYS,THOSE DAYS ARE GONE,
EVEN THE RAIN NOW LOOKS FORLORN,
AND NO MORE IT IS A MATTER OF CHOICE,
FOR WORDS DESERTED FIND NO VOICE..
NOW EVEN THE LAMP SEEMS BETRAYING,
ITS LIGHT GLOSSED-
FOR SUBTLETY IT KNOWS LITTLE..
HARSH, CRUDE, IMPRUDENT LAMP,
BRIGHTENING THE HOLLOWS OF THE HEART,
AND GENTLY ERODING WHAT'S LEFT OF THE WARMTH..
THE ROAD WAS ALWAYS CAKED,
YET TREACHEROUS IT NEVER FELT,
THOUGH PAIN AT LARGE FELT THESE DAYS,
FOR THE SOFTEST OF BLOWS, SOFTLY DEALT.
THE BLADE WAS NEVER, NEVER THIS SHARP,
AND THE CUT, PROFOUND THOUGH NOT SO DEEP,
BUT THE SLIGHTEST NUDGE, A GENTLE BRUSH,
AND BLOOD GENEROUSLY BEGINS TO WEEP...
WHEN THE HEART LAST REJOICED?
AT LAST IT SEEMS A MATTER OF CHOICE,
YET WORDS FICKLE, CHOOSE NO VOICE....