worry not about my past, my love 
the present displays enough confusion 
to last the blackened powders of futures 
we have not yet lived nor dreamt 


stare a 
wistful sigh 
whilst draping 
below hollow 

limbs entangled 
however the 
bedsheets crumble 

creases of 
creation 'twining 
between our 
forlorn fingers 

hang not your head 
against my palm 
for my fingers have 
not the substance 
to cradle your sorrow 
alongside my own 

rest your forehead 
on my heart, my dear 
so you know my weary 
pulse resides within 
and the ashes still 
flutter 'gainst their cage 
a vain attempt to console 
the embers of rage 

I have not the words 
to soothe your brow 

so my ashes are yours 
my shimmering moonlight 

my ashes are yours 


worry not about my future, my urn 
the past entails enough condemnation 
to withstand darkened chalks of yesterday 

so let the days to come be our dream