To the Widowed

Here lies my heart
and with you put to rest.
What life in demise there be is rent
from my longing arms.
O cruel as cruel can be as to part
two burning souls
which the frigid tides of death
dowse and destroy.
What life there was is lost
with you.
That love, which kills can never be replaced,
Only echo
Off lonely mountains
that stand and wait to die,
Never quite touching the heavens,
Where you, my lover, lie.
Here lie I, now cruel life has had it's way,
Into the slow release of death...
Then to you.

The End

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