Undertaker

Quiet hearts beat with abandon as

The whispering memory of you

Permeates the air like a living fog.

Yet, outside, the flowers bloom and flourish;

Unaware, unspoiled, uncaring.

Inside, my senses sting with memory,

Unfailing memory.

My voice rises, hoarse, corrupt, and

Incomparably deceived.

Is this justified?

Is this truthful?

The reply is but a mist, whispering,

Continually whispering in my ear.

Quiet hearts beat with abandon.