poem 143

Grey is deaths gentle way

of saying, your leaning to a grave

So my love, please be brave

and write of this day

of how the rain falls

and rainbows frames us all

Gentle is the music played

and us, singing in a cave

it’s grace, where fires shine

See how, they take their place

in eyes burning wide

as our hands, upon a pill

here to understand

lands, where no borders spill

You, my true blood brother

born from our cut flesh

and Zoe my first lover

Who, could ask for more

as we bowed, before the doors

On top of a new world

together here we flew

higher then what’s true

and witness, to the first blue

Humans as we are

memories as they bloom
here is your grave

Dust perfect made