Beneath dark leaves,
Above washing soil
Where rain never reached,
Leaving seeds to never sprout
High enough to reach Heaven,
For I can see green, where should be blue,
As I can see the red of my hands,
Finding a heart, that never knew.

I carve a spot into a rock
To silence the flow of a singular tear,
For its landfall would never be
Upon where lakes do have their bottom,
Where sands are never made
From stones, unearthed
From graves, not birthed.

For you are as the written eulogy
Buried in my fractured hands,
Where I note death is my fortress
From this colossal madness.

Like worms beneath the tempest,
With fires to each corner
Of an oaken frame,
I cut the hollowness from the solidity,
And breathe to you my gravity.

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