In the dead of the night,
with a bottle in the right,
and your picture in my left,
wet and salty...
Feeding my mind
with memories of a time,
when we were still "we"
and when they looked at "us";
but there is no "we" nor "us" now,
there am only I left, alone,
with a white rose, turning blood,
now pitch black like dipped in ink,
and wrapped in the sin that
only God knows, besides me..
Once we were so lovely,
under the Heavens,
under the grace of God..
..now only I remain,
with this rose I thought
to leave..at your grave.
As I walk over the old,
wooden bridge beside
the graveyard, I take a last
look at your final resting place..
...see, there you are,
in a snowy dress,
intoxicating yourself
with the fragrance of
the sin I left you with..
..farewell my love!
My only hope is that
you'll forgive me for the
sin, of taking the life
of my lover, who's
called by your name..
...farewell Elizabeth,
I will miss you,
when the whistling
of a cold and lonely
wind hits my back.
In love, your angel
(of Death). 🙂
©stoic_poet
S