Watching your path alone
I see forever bonded into seconds
And love crippled into loss.
Standing right here
On the master of our songs,
The duty of our fingers
Cries for the burden of its pleasure.
Still standing here
On the remains of our music,
The manuscripts of our hearts
Plead for the abortion of its destruction.
Yet while standing here,
Your silence is as noisy as the tempest of Danube.
The sight of your ship,
As distant as the peak of the Alps.
Watch the mountains stumble,
Listen as the seas billow,
Look how the the storm scatters
The smell of the Scythe to my living heart.
So, I will stand still.
I will rest my bones on the demise of your heart.
And when the shore tells of your country abroad,
I will sleep my mind to the path of our end.
©Tydale Bassey Abigail.