Death has made himself a home
In the marvelous shrine
That was once your beauty.
I long to wake you from
Your hideously serene sleep.
This melancholy long night
That separates us wanes
In the mortal melody
I must endure.
The world sours, for life
Without you is not life,
But a living death.
Moldering like a ruin,
I walk among the ghosts
Of my memories, shadows
Of dreams unrealized.
A destiny incomplete, wrapped
In a solemn silence.
There is no magic to my solitude.
I must silently wait for the end,
Yielding to some unseen power
To take me home to you.
About the Creator
Eric B. Ruark
I am an award-winning storyteller and photographer who has published several mystery stories with Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. My sci-fi mystery novels are on Amazon and are available in both e-book and paperback formats.
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