I watched his face fall
sad like a statue
on an ash covered balcony
whispers of past tense
murmered in half tense
makes me too afraid to speak
I know this because
I know the return of a season looking back at you
I feel you inside the recluse of the passing winds
to see you, wishing hands that
clutch onto an invisible death you hold to your chest
reminds me of my own wars
the sweat of a fever you can't make out of
why do we turn away from one another
when did love become fear of only losing
have I not won all my battles? Had I only survived them?
Am I a false king in a land of nothing, claimed by all?