the End of a Love Song

Death patted the worn leather couch.

Placed in frigid temperatures…the seat seemed to come from 1970…or there about.

He did not offer a love song.

Though in his icy stare…100_1336

it had been apparent to see the End wished for me to stay.

His movement so flawed, so free, like a cold sweat on a summer’s day.

If I could only pass Death by…

There would be no need to ask why.

Positioned knee to knee…

‘should I stay or should I go.’

With a chance glance to smoke from a January sky…

I turned back and Death had gone.

Leaving me with only lyrics to a love song.

Your Song

Precious are these words I sing.
They remind me of you.
Preserved in tenderness,
I hum a sweet melody.
Your present day renaissance is my whisper’s fidelity…
On all the vague notes.
Within the tragic, sullied, songs.
Your sun shines bright on a lyrical lawn.

Silence, the sparring, when my clustered shadows appear without a view.
Tone deaf is my prism

Somber my solo chorus.
I hum the sweetest of melodies…only when in memory of us.