Nightmare Poem by Westley Lobo

Bunches of flowers made into a wreath,
Dozens of wreaths adorn your grave,
Blood, flesh and bones can no more breathe,
Your warm breath is what I crave.

Only memories remain in my mind,
Like footprints on wet sand,
Was this our only bind?
Will the waters flow and level the land?

You and me together, hand in hand,
Down the altar, was it our past?
Let the fairy GodMother wave her wand,
This, one dream, I do not want to last.