The Firethorn Tree stands in the garden
by a latted  wooden fence
festooned o'er all cascading flowers
with a whiteness so intense.
In the freezing winter months
her scarlet berries cry come hence
to the ever hungry birds ,in residence.

My wings, Fading away
I swore my life to you, As I swore on that day...

Isn't that what I'm supposed to say?
The cold knives I plunge into their chest..
Into their cold, fading hearts...
It means nothing to me.
It means
Nothing
To me....
If I'm supposed to have these....
Things
Why am I so distorted?
Broken?
Erased
Forgotten..
Left to rot with that ***** you call a wife..

-

Along a wooded path we stroll
Past firethorn and evergreen
Following a wondered wish
Illumed by a soft moonbeam

For this we’ve dreamt of evenings past
To find the meaning in our heart
All alone the two of us
Awaiting magic soon to start

I felt a drop upon my lips
Of the moon's soft tender glow
Read my lips by soft moonlight
Loving thoughts for you do flow

The breeze brings its gentle touch
Shivers tingle up my spine
Goosebumps rise on freckled skin
Your arms warmly wrapt 'round mine

So mesmerized by fireflies
Such whimsy on the evening air
A’ flickering of tiny lights
Just for the two of us to share

I point up to a shining star
Its beauty glistens ever bright
And whisper, that is what you are
To me this perfect springtime night

I am nothing more my dear
Than a woman in love with a man
Let me show you what I need
Into my own I take his hand

I guide him to the big oak tree
Our names carved into a heart
"2gether 4ever", this you promised
A kiss seems a good place to start

So there below a canopy
Of branches twisted up above
I kissed the one that I adore
To know the feeling of true love

And as the sun began to set
I held her in my arms so tight
2gether 4ever a dream come true
My promise made again this night

You swirl around
my poems to enter old nest.
I do not know how to pray.

I will backtrack
to find my footprints in
your glistening eyes.

To admire the purity
of flame, I taste red berries
of firethorn. You recite
a sacred hymn.

No name was needed
for unknown agony of your mind.
Neither you will muse
nor I will write.

Every December snow
becomes a shroud.