What You Mean
The shadows have settled upon me,
desolated I grieve uncontrolled,
within the knives have been sharpened,
slicing warmth with barbs of cold.
For what you mean is the summer,
the glorious harbour of spring,
yet all remaining is winter
and a chill that pervades everything.
My love for you is still vital
and grows each passing day,
the missing of you is torture,
a panorama of endless grey.
For what you mean is eternal,
a river that flows on and on,
and I cannot ever imagine
of my life if you are gone.
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