Love dies 

in the glow of embers

and then it lies 

down 

in dust and ashes

it dances 

it's death announcement

across the hay fields 

and along the furrows

and it burrows 

and it bashes

unhealable deep scars 

across 

and into 

the muscle of our hearts

until we mourn

for our lost piece 

and their not so forgotten face

til we mimic the forlorn 

of old school lore

and understand misery

of wanderlust poets

who learned to pour

out their complicated souls

their divine nature

broken and torn

onto paper

like a suicides blood

onto the floor