A little pebble,
Left on the road,
A butterfly flapping,
It's wings alone,
A pubescent dream,
Of a new home,
The smallest things,
Cause the largest storms.

Alone in a fantasy,
Together in hope,
A sheet of paper,
Adorned on my wall,
The scribble of words,
All which seem to be from Rome
Your words like a card,
Poetic and a sonnet ode,
Now read no more,
Than Hallmark's banal prose.

Your three dot symphony,
Made time go slow,
The wait for each letter,
A vivid dream alone,
Saved only by,
The swing of your sword,
A princess on a stead,
Who saved the lonesome ghost.

Memories are demons,
That offer  hope,
Their deafening silence,
Played in every song,
They echo reflections,
Of a time long lost,
They serve as headstones,
To the death of love.