Petals have fallen, over a naked leaf,
The soil has been where I found thee laying,
Frozen and dead, with a mark upon thy forehead,
The mark of terror. The mark of a beast.
The mark from a man,
Who knew your heart, taken to keep.
Beloved, with thy tranquil eyes,
That I still see, beneath this frail temple,
You have hair alike the moss,
That has grown over your mausoleum.
Beauty made luminescent,
By a face now dead, as I imagine all.
Beloved, there is nothing so alive to see,
Than my delusion being real.
My hands tremble when they extend,
For the face gone from this world,
For the life gone from this world.
Wherever thou be, thou is gone.
Denial has been my labor,
Intensive, in its strain.
My mind, is now once more,
Weary and heavy.
Corruption has drawn out tendrils,
And through them, I speak words:
“Where was love in its blackness,
Where was love in its light,
To it, now bare in darkness,
To it, now bare in sight.”