The Grief of Love
The Grief of Love Grief it may bring, the sad echoes of the broken. Like dead trees in the sulking of winter rains, with no leaves to bear, only the skeleton at which they clung to. The empty soils of tears and the bleeding of a broken heart. The screaming of the chest leaving one open to the voices of the shuttered ghosts of the flimsy, at the unappointed hands of desolation. Eyes of declining sunrises, only to be kempt by vapors of the dejected view at hand. Poured in the distressed memories of sorrow stirred in the fading hopes of soulful thoughts. Like the black cat in the crossing of the street, one conveys their superstition to not allow it to pass. So their days are lived in the anxious of what shall never proceed further than their own mind. Unwilling to fetch the bones that held together their heart. Leaving their sorrowed soul to the transfer of agony. Experiencing the howls of who they once were as it is ripped from them, like calf is taken for the joy of me...