dernière pensée,

up here, on this face.
to see as if times lost,
its pace.
to feel so gloom,
and appear to accept,
the ruins.
if love.
cant speak above.
last words, we speak of.
as the silence your eyes appeal,
my minds where i conceal,
this love letter i fond,
to reveal.
under my cue,
finally behind this blue,
as i begin to accrue,
this less lonely view.
im in lost thoughts,
as my tears drip, into frost,
i loose view of this past.
as we move the mast,
knowing this wind will not pass.
upon this hush,
ive begun to rust,
upon the loss of cue.
lifes lost in circles,
the feel of this greet,
upon our souls, fleet.
nothing, could compete.
excrete.