Dark September

To live, to breathe - Are these the same?

To feel the sun; to hear the rain?

For in my soul there breathes a name

too wonderful to resurrect.



True love - the wealth of every eye -

gives my torn heart the will to die.

Is manhood built upon a lie

which love has not discovered yet?



And on these lips and fingers fair,

the wealth of worlds is burried there;

But frozen minds beyond repair

do not know sorrows end.



The weeping of the willow trees

reflects my grief - infects the breeze.

Mine eyes reach their mortality

from crying for a friend.



My thoughts are pebbles in the mud -

heavy as the stars above -

killing as the pains of love

that shatter hearts of brick and stone.



His name still lingers on my lips.

I see his face; I feel his kiss;

But I keep silent. Fragile this

shelter made of flesh and bone.



To live, to breathe - Are these the same?

For should I die, perhaps my name

would plague the mouth which gave me fame

among the jaded cherubim -

among the broken seraphim.



My pillow shall become his chest,

and there will I forever...

rest...