The sky was blue the day we met
not a single cloud in sight
truth is all I saw was you
framed by the morning light.

Gray will be the colour of my hair
if you ever leave my head
sometimes I still stare
when I'm alone in bed
seared into my memory
like a red hot poker
you once lay next to me
now I can't even hold her
an indentation on these white sheets
from an angel just as pure
I used to watch you sleep
now I watch the light beneath the door
half expecting it to open
for you to somehow return
the other half lies broken
as the glow of candles burn.

Blue was the colour the day we met
but orange was the day you died
whilst I stood and watched the sunset
on my beautiful bride.

"You laid so peacefully
now you sleep solitary
taken with a piece of me
that piece I had to bury."

We collect words throughout our lives
We share profound thoughts and insignificant snippets
But will they know you when you die?
Will your words still resonate?
Will your thoughts dissolve into the wind?
Or will you forever be interred on a wall, your script timeless in it's verse?
Will they know you when you die?

Trying to define a concept
Imagining whether there’s an end to this nothingness
Maybe it’s man made?
Existential questions, and every answer is both wrong and right.