Snow falls as ash, then fades as mist in the moment of descent
Accompanied by the final strains of a sonorous lament

Woven light unravels into threads bereft of hue
Her brightness engraved in memory; Creation's brilliance, now subdued

The limitless azure that stole my breath now fades to grey
When Love demands a sacrifice, why is it always Art that pays?

The hollow ache within me is but a fraction of Your pain
And yet the loss is devastating, despite the necessary gain

All that I can offer You is but a broken song
As I gather shattered fragments of a heart gone mad too long

Yet I pray it brings You comfort of verses writ sincere
Amid a maelstrom of emotions, only poetry rings clear.




Penned by my hand on the 19th of Mayan, in the year 984 AF.