As the day weeps
Upon two pebbles, barely asleep,
Eyes have shut of a newborn
Whose first word could not reach
The face of his twin,
While cold blankets smother a flame
Bandaging the sadness of his kin.
Burns to carve the marks
In pain, in the embedded stain.
She has been to him
An everything drawn at the pen,
To contours tracing each weathering fold –
Witnessed at the hour neither could hold,
While funerals were with blackest silk,
As caskets were small.
Love leaves embers in trails of smoke,
In each babe’s departure, before either spoke –
While silence wrote the word
Upon quilts, whom no one heard.
In Hell, warmth smolders their skin,
A heart burned in the fire
While faces dance for the sin –
That reached the skies,
For God’s ilk to spread the lies.
The world weathers on,
Changing for passing seasons,
Spilling tears in countless years
While a smile was never wholly reasoned
To belong among childish fears –
Weeping in place of joy
In the light of a crippled heart,
Receding back as the waves at their start.