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love itself is dead
By
Thehoncath

love itself is dead

Love, like all organic things, grows, and dies


They told me, my darling, they told me love was dead,
And brought me bitter news to hear and saltier tears to shed.

I wept as I recalled how often you and I
Had tired the night with talking until the sun was in the sky.

And now that our love is lying, like death across my breast,        
a handful of grey ashes, now long ago at rest

Still is that clamant voice, the memories awake;
For the ending, takes all away, but those it cannot take.

 

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