Riverside

A broken kite shall not fly
Unless the strongest of the winds blow
Yet, it flies frigid, morbid, a stark memory
Of it's former glory
Thrust into a lateral plane
Wayward, irrelevant, and a sight for an eye to go sore
It is still a kite, only formerly and to those who knew it
Such is the apathy of ones in love
For love is like a sudden gust of wind
Only to fade and eject the soul
Into boundless drudgery
Of cataclysmic proportions
Yet on the outside, the soul seems to not seem so
I know the rivers of such
For my raft has sunk in the same
Too often than not
And now I walk by the banks
Of said river, sans the drench
For I have no inclination
For love is what I have known to be
A mere figment of a delusional mind