The red of your blood
Was the dripping sunset
Your pale white cheeks
Were the waning moon
Your wise words
Were the whispering winds
Your empty promises
Were the mourning dove's coo
Your cold hands
Were the frozen ground
Your silent tongue
Was the mourner's sound
The dome of your eyelid
Was the shape of your grave
Your unspoken truths
Were the words on the slate
Your evaporating life
Was the tears that they shed
Your unmoving face
Was the wood of your deathbed
Your fading red lips
Were the rose that I placed
Along with this poem
On the stone of your grave.
YOU ARE READING
Never Catch Me
PuisiA collection of poems about death. WARNING: contains death. #24 in poetry 9/25/15
