Still-life. A stilled life. He weeps to form a garden made from her debris. He weeps, and he cannot even leave. He weeps the funeral back into togetherness, to the final time in being the blank witness to a sunshine that distanced itself so well. It was the final time to view the light, even as a slow-moving ray against his tear-stained cheeks. It was the moment to capture the togetherness of her, before slow decay became the unravelling.
He will go on, towards the lighthouse in his mind. He will shed tears to float backwards towards a grey sunset. He will set the scene upon the presence of the moon, folding messages for the wind to carry.
He will bleed his eyes to dried rivers. A drought, and then, another storm. More than all else, he will ruin himself as slow as she wilts inside the soil. Something is meant by this, while the rain from his eyes raises a garden from the grave. Among where she fell, was placed, was embraced by the silence inside where all else comes close, roots have begun to stretch.
A garden made of both grief and belief, that as something dies, another thing shall be raised. Towards the next sunrise, towards the sounds of another day.
Another face in the mirror to count the stars, within the everlasting journey to find a greater height. Beyond the melting bones, the scenery of silence being feared, the wasted breaths as sighs of grief made silver among winter.
Track your swum miles
Back to the reliving love,
Watered by the storms
We drew our arms through,
Keeping smiles on the pages
Together, in a hold.
We hold history
Ever on page one,
Finding love in unending tears
Backtracked on the first mile
We ever sought to cross.
With waters to your naked heart
Leaning in reverse,
Nestled thus in the bed,
Not the coffin,
As coins drop from your cheeks,
Chancing this love,
Startled of you,
The bird from above.
Forever, by the side
Of ever-growing storms,
Purging our happiness
For a time.
To collect Heaven’s raindrops,
Arranging a smile upon a portrait,
Keeping truth decadent,
Precious and believed.
Eludes the shores,
Of your form in the twist,
Of your shades to be kissed,
Of your wakefulness
Here to be missed.
When you open your mouth
To breathe your horrors,
Call through to me,
When I can weep alongside
The preciousness of you.
When you can sigh
Words that catch the slope
Of sand once fertile,
To new beginnings, I will run
Towards the holiest sun.
The love I hold
In this heart of golden texture
Has me sealed, to your emotion,
To the very motion
Of yourself in the sea,
Of your eyes to soon plea
That your suffering shall stop,
While waking in my arms.
You will fold your tears
Against the barest flesh.
It is the final time
You will see wounds to be undressed,
Among the first time
To see the wildness becoming mildness.
My sweet, kiss my bitter lips.
My love, how shall we dine on my guilt?
My beauty, with everything sweet to see,
My bitterness, is yet exquisite.
Under moon and star,
Under faces apart,
In love and lust in fire,
Far, we walk, under the endless fog,
To find a memory that was once pleasant.
Dream with me, dear woman.
Your black hair comes in long strands,
Down to where it reaches your toes.
Your lashes, your eyes, and your fingers,
All have curves to see, alike the earth,
And its curvature.
See me as former, never as latter.
Rawest pain and purest shame,
Has encompassed me in highest notes.
There is memory in my mind,
Tears in my eyes,
Each one, dropping upon soil at my feet,
Feel this with me, dear woman.
Is there Hell to separate us?
Is there Heaven to unite us?
Is there family to be made,
When we die tonight on the frozen rocks?
She’s not in danger,
Not beneath me, the ruler to her
Naked empire; of boats upon smooth silk,
Of a navy that is swept in maddening winds
That speak in coldness of words.
Whispers that threaten and attempt
To subdue that which I desire.
They are voices from a different place.
She’s not in danger,
She, the woman whom I seek to gain,
As my love and my endless vision.
Her beauty makes a festival,
Her arms make a waterfall,
Her legs create the support.
Through a face and lips that show grace,
She says to me: –
“Unlike thou, who has faced perplexity,
I have felt so much love from thee,
There’s no unkindness in what you’ve shown,
Not from the murky nest of the mind you’ve grown.”
And so, her kindness comes to me,
As a mirror of what I behold to be.
Please, oh, beauty,
Offer me that hope,
Be the one I thirst for,
As the moon drains me, and the sun devours me.