Before her grave he knelt underneath of their weeping willow,
as he spoke only silence could be heard from his heart.
No flower like his painful reminder of thorns,
poking into his eyes this root finding a way.
exasperation holding the atmosphere dark,
angry beyond what is left behind.
She cried as he lived on before his time,
perspicacious heart in the knowledge of love.
Reading words to her ghost left out and defined in light,
whispering vicariously the dream he know tries to die in.
Through her silence so much can be felt in his eyes crying,
seeking retribution in the only desire left to taste.
Rose growing expediently his heart,
found in his life her shadow remains.
Watching the depth of his love showers my eyes in tears,
unable to breathe choked up in their pain.
As I take in the moment I feel as I watch him,
all fears become transparent in ghostly hopes.
I see her there resting on the grass beside of him,
her hands on his back, his heart in her hands.
Screaming sounds with all density binding,
balking his reach, holding back this pain.
He kisses the ground with love in his eyes still wet,
unwilling to stop the flow this river he creates.
Sinking into her forever taking in one last breath,
living to die with her approval his life is given away.
Johnny Newell
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