You were my queen and yours was my heart
The one who completed my missing part
Your name was my one-word poetry
but your demise is my greatest tragedy

I don't just have scars...
I have memories tattooed onto my skin.
I have emotions attached to my heart and imprinted onto my skin.
They are conversation starters that say all that needs to be said.

But they don't ask...

On the edge of autumn,
I see the sky and trees all
ablaze with color.
I can still smell the
smoldering fires of fierce youth,
when the landscape of my
heart was wild;
a wilderness that wouldn't
be tamed.
But I'm afraid that
old age has quenched my
thirst for adventure.
Even my poems have lost their teeth.
Gone are my scabbed up knees and
swords made out of sticks.
No beautiful maidens to rescue;
Just constipation to overcome;
as I listen to the
ticking of the clock.

We poets were a sensitive lot
in a world that shat on us
although we fought.