DId the passion died? Did it wither away?
Did the wind carry the petals, torpid and grey?
Did the once luminescent ember, that burned red had turned to ash?
extinguished by a few select words that was, rather rash?

I ponder in deep thoughts while I drown in sorrow.
The cross I bare is heavy, and the passage I trek is narrow.
The suffering is now acquainted with my stride,
and the loneliness unveiled itself and became my bride.

I kiss my sadness, right on it's lips
and embrace my adversity, with my finger tips,
because the spaces between my hands, that was once filled with "hers",
No longer need company, and no longer need words...