Empty Frame

My words are stained by her love.

Beneath the tangled stars and shivering sky
a pale sheet cries to her name.

Birds sing through the sorrow which
fogs an empty wood frame.

My words are stained by her love.

Mourning trees abandon rich bounty
to the lonely black dirt,

The cold shelter of turning, twisting leaves
that despair makes its home,

Shadows burning the light bark flesh
made hollow in the night.

My words are stained by her love.

The dark’s cold friend smirks
at misfortunes below,

Happy over the dying lives
of hidden faces,

Masked in their tears and their pain
by his false brightness.

My words are stained by her love.

My heart once lived amongst
the gently swaying pines,

Warmed by the glowing fires of
the happiest waking dreams,

But now they have gone and
My words are stained by her love.

fog of sorrow

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