Drag my eyes and dig my hope
Arrange the corpses and lit the flowers
Ruin our poetry and forsaken divine journeys

Lavish our time in varnished vanity
Incinerate the path you walk upon,

though nothing could come to any light—
Go find the hearts you had murdered.

The wind blew your tongue; colder your tears
Your dancing fingers and palms still talk of sun
And soon saturated your old ash driven hair
Into raindrop roots of forestry rhymes

Some of the rhymes were of your smile
Colored only by a single weary verse
To unravel the waves of your 7th ghost
which was
Just a picture for us to caress—

In the absence of sly soul and slacking slashes.

The pictures shall never fit the wooden frame
Carved by the sharp words you wrote by the heat
And the sympathetic sword you caress before the pages
Of travelling letters never yet to come.

And so I ask,

How long have my eyes been fasting
Drifted away from your grim outline
Questions I ask, is this an omen or mere silence
To welcome the storm I have yet encountered?

Ah,

Rustling wind shall tell no more
You would never have your hair and shadows back
Agonizing the pain we never had
None will have our verses and our wandering

Oh,

And I should learn to forget
Learn to regret
Learn to heed
Learn to bleed.