Desolation
My hand settles tenderly upon your cheek,
while I feel only the chilled path of my tear.
My gaze rests uneasily upon the mirror of your unblinking eyes,
watching me drown in the reflection of my sorrow.
I search for my voice but I do not find it.
It is too late for words,
your heart can't hear what I say.
The darkness leaches across the canvas of my soul.
All colours evaporate before me,
as I stand alone in the brownness of my despair.
Love's cruel army advances to crush all defenses;
my faded, pale reserves too weak to heed the call
I would not have painted this scene.
I would not have used such colours.
What have I done that you should so despise me;
so coldly turned away, in hate?
You must know how I dread the emptiness of lonely years to come.
If you must turn from me and speak no more,
then take my broken heart and crush it in your cruel hands.
My life must drool through your fingers,
to mingle with the dust.