Her eyes spoke the words that her lips never said
As she lay there in silence curled up on the bed,
A solitary teardrop meandering her face
That fell from flushed cheeks onto bed sheets of lace.
With a vacant expression and hollowed out stare
Concealing the heartbreak and utter despair,
She clung to the pillow, so tight to her chest,
Upon which the head of her true love would rest.
The rose of her heart had succumbed to decay,
Faded, diminished, and withered away,
Blackened by misery, hardened through grief,
And drained of all passion by death's cunning thief.
Her once perfect world like those empires of old
Had crumbled to ruin, so desolate and cold,
No longer would love warm her soul like the sun
For the harshest of winters had now just begun.
In the recess of memory, precious and pure,
Her lover's last kiss would forever endure,
A comfort in sorrow and constant lament
Till the days of her own life are equally spent.