Dreams bereft
but
not left,
could cloud
an empty sky.

Tears bled
but
not shed,
could fill
a silent pool.

Letters penned
but
not sent,
could consume
a tranquil wood.

Doors blocked
but
not locked,
could allow, yet,
a drop of Sun

enter the
shut,
not sealed
tomb,
and breathe

life, into
what
got cleaved:
waltzing
intertwined vines.