Have you ever mourned an empty grave,
Or carved its headstone from your heart,
Coughing as the dust clogged your lungs?
A world was born that sticky summer night
Only to die in autumn’s last breath -
And you along with it,
Face stolen by a creature
Too pitiful to face.

And yet I do,
Every day,
Dancing in those greying memories
As I lay one more flower on the damp soil.

There's hate here somewhere, I'm sure,
But every time I look
All I find are soft words
Whispered in the glowing night
And a deep ache.
Maybe that's what's down there,
A coffin full of broken promises.
What sweet tragedy it is, though -
They're still as warm as when you made them
Without an edge in sight.

It's them I honour with every wilted petal,
Stewing in the sweetness of their rot,
Praying to the earth
That cut flowers might someday bloom again.