I Couldn't Talk About It, So I Wrote A Poem

How dark the night, when the end came and love vanished in a voiceless turbulent moment when eyes pulled away, leaving a vacuum as pain and sorrow blackened the skin of my heart Allowing tears to fall and reverberate in the recesses of my soul with a thunderous throbbing depression that sullied my world leaving ragged roots of despair that gorged themselves on the passion of my soul's soil Where footprints led to the open gate where strings of unknown reasons played on my heart like the sound of a sad violin calling my soul, seeking a melody of understanding in a night of upheaval that rushed toward me with melancholy tones of misery stripping away the joy of love leaving a black sackcloth of ashes that was plowed into my dead garden of love revealing crushed furrows of turbulent ground where the roots of love once grew and is now an empty windblown field drenched in darkness, where nothing lives but my grief-stricken memories of love