Far, far away from you
From the very love that was true;
It has been a tormented night
Pierced by hatred and sliced moonlight

None of our sleeps have gone;
Yet without thee, all feels alone
The birds sing unsung cries tonight;
Not having breathed you since daylight.

Far, far away from you
That summer sunshine has turned sour;
There has not been one love, anew
I float and weep and drink hours.

None of our pasts have died;
None of our shared secrets have lied;
The earth we greased stays deep,
The soil we passed falls fast asleep.

All that is felt is blood;
The days that pass shall become hard,
Without you here, in mind and thoughts,
To forget you, as I was once taught.

All that is held is too late;
These drained months have made me hate,
The fallen mornings without thee;
Even my heart has run from me.

It has been an unspoken chart;
An utterance with no discourse.
Bereft of love, even of heart,
Of remorse, of voiced force.

It has been a mouthed scene;
With no flesh to be sensed, nor seen,
With no substance, nor enmity,
With no merits, nor sanctity.

When we loved, we were one art;
You were my king, my literature.
I thought we would not be apart;
Your wit and madness made me sure.

When we were lovers, we strolled there;
You held my hand and kissed my hair.
We blew wrath and toil with our youth,
Hiding left and right, north and south.

When we embraced, we were the same;
The moors shone brightly by our names.
Upon our shoes were trained mornings,
Telling branches and leaves and barks to sing.

When we had kissed, we were gone;
Perhaps in dreams, we had been shown
That this unjust love was not to last
but would mean godly in the past.

When we headed home, we turned eyes
Our heads and nerves had been but lies
We mingled only one flesh, in bed
With brown veins, and blood in shades.

When we hurtled north, we did alter
The gentle dream that had parted;
Our hands, destined for sweeter finds;
Our souls, enchanted not by minds.

When we turned back, we could all see
That such dreams could not have brought
my skylight, my tantrum, my poesy;
A riddle I would not have thought.

When we partook, we could realise
That riveting facts hid paradise
Making it the right turn to laugh;
Finding the chosen one to love.