The lunatic stars,Stir in me, an ancient lust,Cruel as cold iron.Only with the morning light,Does shame temper me again.
I remember love,And the anguish that I felt,As it died, broken.So I swore, Never Again,And yet, of course, here I am.
I was there that day,When she cried to the heavens,Abandoned, alone,And I did nothing but watch,Silent, condemned, a traitor.
Foggy summer days,Steal from me heat, hate, and dreams,So, I too, am mist.
There is a garden,On a distant island, where,Glory died for peace.
Rocky, shapeless beach,Unbothered by tourists' gait,Left alone, in peace.
A single green leaf,Falls from the ancient maple,A lifetime to fall.
She lies, deep asleep,In a grave beneath the sea,Nestled in cold sand,While I, salt-faced and bereaved,Not brave enough to join her.
Lying in sunshine,Dozing with a book opened,Remote, Peaceful Sleep.
A wilted flower,Curls into soft earth gently,Becoming new soil.