Fissured stones are entwining arms,
limbs dancing among the once pride
of summers bright leaves; now buried
in the decay of the season.
The wild wind of love, solitude in its
stillness, alone the breath echoes and
floats among the winds, no longer in its
majesty; scatters upon the unfeeling
Mist cloaks the unbounded, drinks in a
vanishing moon, the stars hide behind
bellowing shadows; sullen is the night
as it invokes fear in the weak.
Repose is the broken heart; creeping
among the graves lifeless as wilting
wreaths, diffused and motionless in
the depths of lost hope and
A cold image falls to the earth, the
night is stagnate as black shades of
death hovers in dank vapors; a life
stilled and soon unremembered.