Weakening heart of a broken man,
moving to the beat of a funeral march,
like a leaf on autumn hanging from a tree,
withering slowly from a single thread attached.
His mind escaping the realm of reality,
ghosts of his past haunting his being.
His sanity threatened by the grief of the lost,
the flash of the future that will never come.
His battered body the sign of failure,
blood gashing from his countless cuts.
A silver knife stuck in his chest,
the single witness of a life’s end.
Marks on his soul, restless being,
scars of years of mindless hopes,
that were destroyed on the sunset of a life,
clearly given to the search love.
A woman besides the dying man stood,
tears as diamonds descending through her face.
Her hands stained with scarlet life,
her sanity escaping with every breath.
With all her might, her lover she held,
in a desperate attempt to keep him with her.
Guilt filled her every thought,
as her fears at last were proven true.
Their love forbidden had always been,
their souls should never had share their beat.
With death their treason was in time paid,
to the broken hearts that behind they left.
© 2011 Yamil Sárraga