this next month you will be dead
again, one year so far, far away
though still within this sanguine heart
you stare your love as always
your colored pencils drew an arrow
pierced a hole, one deepest yet
a life of colors formed its white tip
searing memories within its depth
recalled in fields where wild-roses sway
there catch past scent of once bouquet
cacoethes tears reside within these morrows
in dear reveal on deathless cheeks of sorrow
-cec
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem