poetry & things

Too far my lover

Tree, I have come to shelter and with the rain to weep

I am soaked, barefoot with mud running through

soft the moss, cool and cold

to soothe my heart that bleeds.

Our waxing nights of love and moons

now fallow a field that burns

damned our hollow bed

of haunting, silent screams

too soon the fiery devil

too far my lover

the spring.

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