The willow towers on a mound of flesh
The willow towers on a mound of flesh
drenched in battle, crimson-gore.
His shimmering silver strands of longing dances,
stretching for miles.
Each strand searching for a slice of solace
in the wind, uncontrollably.
A red thread ties his heart to the present,
a gift from the heavens.
His beloved drowns in a jar of wine, hoping to wash away
his reflection from her eyes.
While he faces the cries of a thousand soldiers,
she cries unable to hold onto him.
As the flames of war rage, she throws her body
at another, smoldering her longing.
flesh on flesh
His body seeps into Mother Earth's bosom,
long perished.
Her heart seeks his presence upon ocean pearls,
among the Siren songs.
The willow sleeps upon a mound of black ash,
drenched in the poisons of love.
