How deep can you fill this cup Full of your woeful tears? Your heartache was a shared one, Full of the glimpses to an ended world. Can this emptiness spill over Of my cupped hands? I have a solitary planet travelling through the milky texture Of my porcelain cheek, Like embracing a nebula When it reaches my chin, and falls. Like one shooting star, that might descend by whatever gravity Could compel it to fall, in the space, In these empty hands, Beneath all empty lands, Beneath where graves mingle in the Earth, Beneath where Hell roams free The cursed creatures, where they see Me, holding fast the roots of a tree. You can grow Up to see the stars, Without me. You can sow Seeds to clear the wars To melt into the sea, Beneath us.