The Grave You are not the crystal in my tears. You are not the reason anymore. I carve the soul of my naïve innocence in the deep valleys. I lay the remains of my torn faith under the tombstone. The dewdrops that find home on the withering petals fall with the grace of mourn and loss. Not for you, you who cannot see the crumbled flower you have stepped on. But for me, as I yearn the past for which I have ripped my heart out and buried. The past that I have savagely bloodied my hands with dirt for, waiting like a lion scouring the desert lands, as the Earth slowly eats away all that I had once so lovingly, so dearly, so passionately treasured.
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