Winter has me breathing
This cascading silver air,
Across your delicate forehead,
As you’ll recede with your elegance
Back to where you belong.
A den of darkness,
Is where you find comfort,
And I do not belong
In such a realm.
I am sick,
Though, you seem to be healthy.
You have cheeks that sparkle the radiance
Of that health, of all youth
Displayed for me, once to kiss,
Now to mourn,
Because I cannot follow
To where you thrive.
I wish to be here, for I do not cling to fear.
I do not cling to the place
Where rats and mice crawl,
Like splendid blankets.
Over the termites and the beetles,
In distant alleys,
Like a droplet of sweat
That carries soot.
There is so much Hell, that you crave,
And never the peace, that I have saved
For you to consume,
Because, the grave beneath your feet,
Has already been exhumed,
And you have risen, from somewhere, from anywhere,
To see me, like a child, been bathed in ashes.
Why do I cry?
When I should still breathe, why do I weep?
I know the world and us, were not for any celebration,
Because the past has encrusted itself, in your worn heart.