Vanity

It seems reasonable to judge this disconsolate city by the miles of broken pavement and the avenues void of smiles. The way I pace these rainy streets, it's undeniable my heart is in defeat as I grow silent as a library or a funeral parlor. Once, I blushed beside flowers as she removed her hat and gloves, I was innocent with my desire to touch her shoulders and fall in love. I sought her happiness more than I ever sought my own; I wanted to be an honorable man and only kiss her in daylight rooms until she trusted my intentions. As the years slip into a coarser age, I must conclude, she's married now to another and all the tattered pages of my poetry are the vanity of a purposeless life.