And where shall the pale hands of time lead us?
For upon this day lies the pallor of gloom
soaking up the color and comfort of my life.

Did you dream of deliverance or did you dream of
death tumbling down your hair into the night?

Crippled are your tears by a whisper unspoken.
Tell me, tell me, what ails your spirit? Is it the angry
appearance of answers? Or is it the desperate defiance of my pain?

Yet, you speak not and look upon me
with serenity in your eyes and loneliness
on your lips while hope lies in torment upon mine.

Will you allow destiny to wander through our veins?
Will you allow words to work away the foul winds?
Will you allow distance to shorten the questions?

It is not a fancy that this heart of mine bears.
It is not a whim that makes my lips quiver.
It is not a tear that troubles my eye.

It is but the bitter aftertaste of hindsight.

I know not whether my soul is capable of love,
I know not whether your breath will utter my name,
I know not whether we will kiss on the edge of eternity,
ever again.

But know this my dearest, for as long as life lingers
in these four letters never will I forget the words
you uttered as the world collapsed
and the love you gave me as silence.