HOME | DD

Description
There is a silent poet here,
save scratchings of a pen.
He writes in flowing script,
he whispers words of her,
of long ago, and distant lands.
And as he closes his eyes,
he remembers, half focussed images,
soundbytes of her life, her love...
Tears grace his marbled skin.

And here he lays his head to rest,
his dreams of her are fitful, fevered.
He speaks of kisses on his brow,
to nurse away the sickness here.
And look, carved sigils on his flesh,
the words that flow with bitter blood.
This is the tale, the testament,
his words they burn into the heart,
and mind and flesh...

Can you tell me where the end is?
The ending to our story?
Can the poet write the words,
long lost, forgotten.
Of timeless love and endless longing,
of bittersweets and loving hate.
Can you show us the meaning of it all,
where it all began, where it all ends.
Write my story, pen my story,
tell me what my future holds...
Please..

Description
There is a silent poet here,
save scratchings of a pen.
He writes in flowing script,
he whispers words of her,
of long ago, and distant lands.
And as he closes his eyes,
he remembers, half focussed images,
soundbytes of her life, her love...
Tears grace his marbled skin.

And here he lays his head to rest,
his dreams of her are fitful, fevered.
He speaks of kisses on his brow,
to nurse away the sickness here.
And look, carved sigils on his flesh,
the words that flow with bitter blood.
This is the tale, the testament,
his words they burn into the heart,
and mind and flesh...

Can you tell me where the end is?
The ending to our story?
Can the poet write the words,
long lost, forgotten.
Of timeless love and endless longing,
of bittersweets and loving hate.
Can you show us the meaning of it all,
where it all began, where it all ends.
Write my story, pen my story,
tell me what my future holds...
Please..