night winds etched your face
into the far side of the moon
and shadow birds danced
on waters of broken promises
last chances and
what could
have been
as the sun singed your heart
into the star-filled skies
and shadow birds danced
on clouds of discontent
dysphoria and
what could
have been
and the storm spun your soul
into the deep dark abyss
as shadow birds danced
on the edge of the cliff
and the winds etched
and the sun singed
and the storm spun
you
away
as
shadow birds
danced
on my
love’s grave
.
.
.
.
.
