Wasted feelings never die.
Instead, they thrive upon our grieving
Perhaps, they seek a noble ending
To draw the barest form and meaning.
Unbeknownst to us, these hours,
they choose to escape to violet fields.
Crowned with gray and withered flowers,
they lay like corpses on their shields.
Can you paint their sky once more?
Why did you bring me to this place?
Alas, I have been here before.
This procession past their tomb
echoes of the steps I took
on those paths that smelled of heather,
let me ponder to remember.
Yes, my love, I have recalled.
On this stone as blank as ice,
eulogy of our destined end
the lie you uttered to be nice
Reads handwritten “to a friend”.