The gates ominous, as hearts were
Led upon the path way to
"Eternal rest"
The crows would pick upon
The feelings now
Vacant,
Bled,
Dispersed,
As each laid to rest to grow a
Crimson,
Dead,
Feelings
Of a forest reaching skywards as
If reaching for that vacant moment
As if to touch love.
But once through the gates, all is dead
Never knowing the feeling that each
Branch strives for, but to reach out to
Once again to touch, feel, the beating of again of *love