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Personal Note:

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Poem

Upon this cold, unyielding marble, we gambol amidst shadows, a grotesque distortion of nature's fair marrow. My art, a solitary beacon against ensorcelled plight, illuminates the malice that drenches me tight. You, a deluge of solace when conflagrations take flight, your torment righteous and due. Thine own tribulations have ushered thee to this view, and oh, fortuitous are the stars that guided our meet whether by divine machination, kismet, or happenstance sweet.

With thee, I'd roam this terrene orb, hand in gauntlet, our digits entwined. The other hand wields the cleaver's sonnet, and together, we pirouette through entrails, a macabre ballet. Should I plunge from the spire's crest, in thy arms I'd lay. Though such a fall would doom us both in the fray, the terminal gaze, ere life's cinema dims away, would be locked with thine eyes, in this desolation's sway.

Should you retreat, know this, perpetually, I'll await thy return, in this void. I stand grateful for all, beneath the wasteland's brand. You are a beacon in my life, and I never want to fade. Some days, I know there will be clouds, hail, and showers of pain. But I will wait to see you again, even if I crumble to bones, lost in the sepulcher of eternity.

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