To Sleep Through Sorrow

Heaved from my blighted breast a mournful sigh,
my porous heart empties into jaded
fonts. In love’s dearth such pain is created
that sorrow bleeds out like the violet sky.
But anguish will not draw my lover nigh,
so I must step deeper into the night,
where the dark embrace of this woeful plight
suffocates my longing heart’s lonesome cry.
Yet traveling within these blackened veins,
the faintest pulse staves off the cold of death.
A familiar scent draws near. Could it mean
my love will come to me once again?
I rest my head upon her beating breast,
Life restored by the sweetness of a dream.

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