Twas here where my quiet love did die,
Eyes closed beneath an exit swift,
Along the road less traveled by,
Beyond a growing autumn rift.
Upon my final resting bed,
Was placed one wilting summer rose
To mark the throne from which he fled
The solace Satans lover chose.
Sweet night, twas you who held my grace,
Tears stained upon a lilac cheek,
For diverted was my culprits bleak face,
Eyes muting all now left to speak:
'Tis heaven where my love shall rest,
Loneliness my solemn guest.

03/31/2004

Posted on 04/01/2004
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