I give you the gift of life.
Buried among the solemn clouds, I watch you
bathe in my rays, as they penetrate
the lead like shrouds.
I beckon you like the thirsting earth
calls out for rain.
Let me shine upon you.
Let me see strips of gold
cast down onto your moonlight skin.
But you don’t listen.
You’re no flower which turns to the sun,
You’re nothing short of the very thorn
that sits underneath the shading petals of a rose-
watching them fall one by one.
I beg you, as dusk approaches not to leave me,
to stay by my side as you rise to the obsidian sky.
I shout your name at dawn
gazing at your fallen pale form from above.
You’re washed in warm hues of orange, red and yellow.
They don’t touch you though.
Lips barely moving
you whisper my name.
The world flickers, dark and gruesome as you rise,
but all I remember is my name
on your wicked
I echo --
knowing our time has come.