Love and loss,
The only things that remain,
And as they collide,
Burning embers, all that I can touch.
Your unremitting memory,
All the comfort now left to me,
And etched most constant upon my mind,
That look in your dying eyes.
(This is Mark Chalkly's poem on the same theme.)
Winter was a foreigner here,
Only the sun used to shine.
The day that death introduced himself,
Was the day that brilliant autumn cracked,
And the world seemed a little darker.
The moon awoke, the sky seemed larger,
The world they loved was over,
As the storm advanced over the hill.
The place they loved lost it's colour,
The home that was to be their's forever, Crumbled!
She was gone already. He lived for nothing,
So why should he at all. He'll meet her there.
What do you think? Let me know at
darien@globalnet.co.uk
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