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A poem that details a man whose grief is set about in contemplation. |
| Only when I weep Do I feel tears that truly stick To cheeks made of the same pallidity As the stones above your grave. Cry more, will I? To the open winds, that scream back the same verse I jot down, upon paper of some pale ocean That feels my fallen tears. I have loved with a heart that would not part The red sea of my clouded storm. Above and beyond the rainbow That only sheens when you come to scream. Scream with me, all words made from the coals That cover me, in my frailty. Give me the same death, the same peace You have used, to laugh your way away from me. |