and I hardly pick the words but all she wants is a peck.
Her gaze speaks painfully, be brave my love, I can interpret.
On this bed of loss, will this also come to pass?
I can count her tears as they stroll,
making a line across my burning chest.
Our nights are same color, our days also a different one.
But our love is mixed, scented with smiles cut short by this.
“No monument should mark my resting place…” she said
“But a rose, it will bring back the colors of our love…”
“…Build me a garden of flowers,
as beautiful as the butterflies flies,
the taste of it will come again.”
Her touch became cold, “oh God is she gone!”
Bruised in this life of cancer.
My love, my heart, my life,
come back to me, I’ve found the answer!
Written by: Matthew Gokum
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.