A pristine stained-glass heart
is all I see

when magnified through the lens
of your sympathetic tears.

Before it was ever broken
I'd give to you my word,
so clear and legible on the page
but now the lines are blurred.

Before it was ever broken
I'd give to you my dreams,
but the fantasy that we had woven
was tearing at the seams.

Before it was ever broken
I'd give to you my trust,
but the knives we held into our backs
were begging us to ******.

Before it was ever broken
I'd give to you my chain,
but the bonds have since come apart
left rusting in the rain;

and even though we're broken
I'd still go back to the start,
when before it was ever broken
I'd give to you my heart.

If not to touch the earth
and know your sun kissed skin,
if not to chase your shadow
through every place you've been.

If not to stand on mountains,
howling from the peaks,
if not to lie in fields
as melodic whispers weep.

If not to dance in forests
where tangled roots take hold,
if not to bathe in oceans
while eternities unfold.

If not to touch the earth,
upon me you would shine
and for that fleeting moment
I could call you mine.

forever looming
clouding our hearts and our minds
the shadow of doubt

There's one less set of footprints
upon my bedroom floor,
there's half as many clothes
behind the closet door.

There's a lonely set of arms
that used to embrace its pair,
there's one less person here
but one more vacant chair.

There's a heart that was once overflowing
and bursting from the soul,
but it seems that just a half
can claim the very whole.

Somethings can be mended,
but never replaced by another.
In empty beds we learn
how to live without each other.

Every day she plants the starseeds
that grow into wishing flowers,
their petals fall down to the earth
and we call them meteor showers.

We beseech the celestial wanderers
and when our words reach her ears,
she makes all our biddings come true,
but each one is stained by her tears.

She yearned for one to call her own
in her garden above the clouds,
but to think of herself and not of the world,
her duty is disavowed.

And so the lonely Starwarden
only smiled on us from above.
She could not keep the wish of another
just because she wished for love.

Even the most beautiful flower
must carry the curse to wilt
and even in its dying hour
new life upon it is built.

No longer will it grace our eyes,
but through death it is still giving.
A new purpose is served through it's demise:
the chance to nourish the living.