I am the oak bent or' and aged
That once stood brave as natured raged
the lines were drawn the battle staged
and man with time compassion caged

I am the field scarred by each track
that shared the weight of soldiers pack
and too felt pain from shell and flak
and those gone forth no more came back

I am the breeze scented with death
as noxious gas inhaled as breath
sent young men blind without the f
and yet their leaders ears were deaf

I am the rain washed or their blood
and roused the poppies from their bud
to honour all whom fought for good
but died before they ever should

I am the cross the epitaph
the stolen kiss the chance to laugh
when young men walked the broken path
of anguish and the aftermath

I am the note that says beware
tread lightly here with tender care
for fresh eyed boys with features fair
bore arms for you now your weight bare

I am the oak with shrapnel scars
that guides their souls to waiting stars
where commoners prop up the bars
toasting their faith with three hoorars

You're the sun
The radiates of it.
You're the moon.
Your smile proves it.
You are love.

You fit the description of the definition.
This what you are.
Yes, my love and sweetheart.

You breathe confidence within me.
Yes, your love strengthens me.
In some of the highest degrees.
This what you are to me.

There's no doubt allowed, whenever you're around.
You still have the power to turn a frown into a smile.
You're magical even within a crowd.
This what you are to me.

Strictly wonderful.

And grief had chewed its way through my skin
Ripping the walls I had tirelessly built apart
I was dying , simply because you had died too

Silence was a canvas
And no one could paint it like you could