18/02/2026
You who wore your broken heart upon your sleeve
Were never meant to be
The castalian spring upon the hill to weave
The image of the hookers sail upon the sea
Scything through the broken waves of emotion.
Your currency not just the coin of devotion
Rather the Nightingale on bedside wings
Singing through the winds of oncology
Holding broken slings and broken hearts and things
Of gossamer or other such codology.
A wisp of wonder A slice of tear
A stamen of flower An early bier
Unethical indigestible the truth
That steals the pained angelic youth.
Inexplicable the reason of the God that pairs
Your journey with words falling down my stairs.