Poetry is but a glimpse
To your feeble story.
Woman, who was once my beloved,
My treasured soul,
And, my mind;
All has now fled far from me.
Your eyes, a twinkle of starlight,
Beside your cheeks, the porcelain sheets
That were made as the bed to lay my kisses,
Once adorned with pitiful tears.
What is the cause
To your untimeliness?
Where is the hope
To your ugliness?
Empty clouds now soar above your beautiful strips of hair,
As scarlet as the sunset behind your eyes,
As iridescent as the moon that clouds your vision,
Because the night that you see,
Has been the Heaven that I witnessed.
I have only ever been in comfort, when the shadows grow stronger,
When the memories have curled over me
Like the blades of grass at my ankles.
You were dead,
Before we ever wed.
I was alive,
Before you knew to survive.
I was but the movement for you, in your endlessness of life,
And now you want death
By the limited presence of breath.