Strange, there is a shadow cross the graveyard,
And they gaze wistfully back to me.
In their hands a sparkling poem,
Bleeder of flesh and life alike.
He rounds the headstone draped in sable,
His pace matched by the lines I sowed,
Kneels among the dirt and mourners,
Leans forward embracing me, melancholy.
Whispers sweet nothings and forlorn promises,
Buried together under the Earth.
Her kiss so lone, condemned her tears.
And she departs, hastily as the blood fell.
Slowly as the dark became null.