Etched in blood and sculpted in stone
Lay the verses cold, he once wrote,
Shaded in paleness of the fallen leaves
The grave silent, no echo ever conceives.
And just at night, he cries her name,
Screaming within the burning heart
Nothing consoles his destined shame
For the daring night hides, the gloomy day departs.
A poet by midnight, dreamer by day,
Darker in thoughts, living a shadowy dismay,
For light elude his existence
Yet he has more to convey.
Walking slowly into a forgotten path
With silence still tasting the same,
The pain in heart still remains
For the guilt and sorrow never fades away.
And the pages foretells a tale of love
Where death betokens the broken ties,
And tears smear through his written verses
For all he could write are final goodbyes.