II

If one day I find you in the meadows of my heart
    And ask from whence you found your way and when you shall depart –
Please answer not you find the roses too sweet to resist
    Nor that the sunset on the seas would be too sorely missed.
Speak not of evening strolls beneath the moonlit trees of spring
    Nor of the song of crickets on the winds the summer brings
Linger not in autumn leaves, their scent left with you still
    And leave no whispered vow upon your breath in winter’s chill

Indeed, my love…

Bathe yourself in blood and hate, resent what I have done
    Bleed my sins upon the beaches ‘neath that setting sun
Rend my flesh and blind my eyes that I may witness not
    The years of empty promises lain strewn about to rot
Burn the roses, braid the thorns, lashed tight around my skin
    And lay waste to the meadow that I found you strolling in
When “another life” is merely ashes on the wind
    Take your leave that I may never hear “almost” again