Lovelorn Sorrow
A poem by Larry Clark

From whence the dark did come.......a stranger,
 atop a steed, dark as night. The clap of hooves, as though thunder from far
away, came piercing thru the dense morning swirl. The morning, still dark as
 the night before, shadowed the man in a cloak of misty fog. A haze only
 seen in the  dreamscape, in the other time. Thru the fog, he did ride fast and
 swift as the dark that comes with night. He came quickly to the place she
 sat and stopped. Saying nothing he comes down to where
she sits, takes her  hand, and cups it as gently as a child
 holds a butterfly. His hands and body, rough and scarred, like his heart,
telling the tales of many battles won and lost, battles of the heart and soul..
 Hardened, and steeled.  Hands made for fighting and crushing, yet ever so
 gentle did he hold her hand, like steel beams, wrapped in cotton. For a
 moment, he remembers. He remembers when his heart was not so hard, when
 life was a happier time. For a brief second, he let his heart bound with joy
and happiness. Let his defense lax, enjoying the moment of feelings
 felt. Happiness in his heart, can melt even the coldest of winters, but alas,
 only for a moment, does this feeling seem to be an eternity. He knows it can
 not be. His heart is torn once again from the reaches of lifes most
 sacred and sought after feelings.
 He knows he cannot stay and must move on, lest
 he fight another battle doomed to be lost. Knowing all to well, the
consequences, he places her hand back to her knee, as she reaches for him, not
 to go, he knows he must leave. saying nothing and hardening his heart once
 again, he mounts his steed, and turns to ride away. On last time does he turn
 and look, straight into her eyes. Feeling his throat tighten around his
 heart, the ache deep inside says its time to go. Suppressing wiht all his
 strength the tears that well up from deep inside, he must leave now. A slight
 raise of his hand, to motion goodbye, the feeling of his heart being torn
again from deep inside, the angst of love lost, or of love know and lost
once again, yet in a moments grasp away, he must leave. He has to fight once
 again the feeling of lovelorn sorrow. Without hesitation he turns
his mount to the dark from whence he came, a sharp jab to the ribs and he
 is gone...she hears the sound of fading thunder as he rides swiftly to his
ever most constant battle of the heart. The battle of lovelorn sorrow.
 Darkman, 2:28 am.