I wrote a dream while I slept
immortal
woke to nothing while I rushed
to this pen and paper.
A poem, a dream is fleeting.

pages of white
   with my heart
laid upon. outlive
   the hand that
did write you
    in blood
then be gone.
    Never yellow
nor fade
    nor lose any
trace of the
    songs I have
made with my
    heart, if not grace.