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Boats they cradled, veiled with sweet caress.
They swell from the deep, they rise to the surface.
Their eyes locked on the horizon, stranded in the moon’s burnished light.
He loved her warmer than those flaming lives.

The grandfather clock strikes nine o’clock, nine o’clock.
They should be asleep and resting in peace.
The fire went down and the electricity ran out.
The tainted paper was destroyed, what contains them now?

She’s looking answers to why as he keep on sleeping.
A planted tree that never grew, written books nobody read.
She flew with butterflies alighted in their tombs of grief.
Blood of defiant hearts, grasping for last breath.

The unbearable weight of pain streak across her eyes, twinkling.
She woke up drenched in a bad dream.
She was the collateral damage of his moving on.
But she’s the moon shining through all the seasons.

She’s awake as through rising in a deep sleep and vanished into light.
Luminous out of the shadows, an angel in the fit of desire.
Flaps her wings into an abyss.
Wiser now for what had fallen and refuses to be redeemed.

THEY HAVE TO BE BROKEN
FOR THEM TO BE WHOLE.