The anniversary of the soul
that ran out of things to let go;
in the calm of a summer day,
a dozen songs called my name
In the language of a home
that I once chose to ignore

The birds would come;
I was scarred to show them my lawn.
They found me alone;
a phobia that never moaned:
I travelled in silence.
Minutes became months, days became years:
in worlds apart, I sowed myself another heart - one
that was stronger than the sum of its parts;
I loved you from afar.

My tongue is a barn,
the pavilion for your arms.
The blacked-out phrases sing you praises:
"I am who I am"; the conversations amazes
I loved you more than I could say it.

Kisses succumbed to distance,
The horn of war reached our zone;
the bed is no more - our heads are revoked:
"You are on your own" -
the days were faux.

No impairment
I am just a man that felt
the rise of a nihilist.
The years turn:
We grow.
We grow.
We grow.
Together? I don't know;
the old become, simple.
Nothingness - the blood, pleased to meet you. The zeitgeist is stained;
let us own it today.

No matter what stone your throw,
I am one of your own.