Oh come, in heavy hours I would have you here,
In all my moments your memories have held me,
As I the child calmly sat in your soft hearted hands.
In reflective remnants, I see your vision of valiant virtue,
A loving lady left lonely as a mirror of my own self sorrowed,
Like mine,your heart harvested for hatred hereditarily here.
How I call, crying your name in these lamented lingerings,
But you can only cover my crimson bleedings in incorporeal form,
Yet alive, your hands holding me would dispel all these destructors.
This poem can be read on poetry.com –http://poetry.com/poems/340602