The last outpost of all there is,
muted colors of Rome burning;
my vast love no longer his,
looted, suffocated yearning.
.
It came sudden like lightning,
shook like spring thunder;
the flame of anger biting,
ripping me asunder.
.
I'm free, but displaced,
carried by a hurricane;
my tears - a waste,
buried with the pain.
.
And now, just emptiness,
stretching over scorched planes,
all-too-quiet heaviness,
poison in my veins.
.
I stand by its headstone,
this monumental thing,
mangled to the bone,
now dead and rotting.
.
Though finally I know:
there's no going back,
my feet fail to go -
paralysis attack.
.
Dismantled, worn down,
seared to the core,
managed not to drown,
but passed out on the shore.
.
And so, I wait, still silent,
for time to end this last moment.
.
02.03.2025.
(for G. and me)
