The death of a child Cannot be portrayed into words But only understood By the deepest trenches of the heart
The moon hung its head low in the night sky A perfect circle to personify infinity Whether it was the message of a spirit Or a coincidental language of the planets We will never know
Something tugged on my spine To turn around, and meet the eyes of a ghost A mirror, I thought For it was the ghost that I saw in my eyes During my personal ice-age
A stranger alone, but Not as strange as the loneliness Of the aftermath of death Do I dare speak? To harvest hidden emotions of the past?
I spoke meek and astutely Then stepped out of my skin To show him my crooked spine Because rotted bones and knotted arteries Speak for themselves
He understood that I apprehended That a grave for one is a grave for two One for their body, and one for your heart A weeping embrace in place Of lost words stolen by mortality