+*+*+
Be still, my love.
Listen to lost
liquid memories
that drip,
drop by drop,
from this broken
vessel of love.

Reach out thy hand
and touch
mine fractured clay
of face.
Behold me not
in disdain,
as I weep tears of blood
into the fissures of this
once fertile soil
of the gods.

Our time of harvest
had been
ever so plentiful.
Alas, screaming winds
stripped the fruit
from verdant vines,
leaving the urn
of my soul,
drained
and
empty.

Taste the salt
of mine tears
as this now barren land
drinks greedily,
but bears not
the fruit of love's
sweet berries.
I cannot remain,
~ nor can I leave.
My soulless spirit
cries out in vain
for what
once
was.

Come, my love.
Take mine hand
in thine.
Let us begin anew
with the coming
of burgeoning Spring,
that we might reclaim the
passions of seasons past.
Relinquish all regrets,
for the time is ripe
for planting seeds of love,
~ not tears of sorrow.
+*+*+