Seven degrees of sufferance exist to torture those
who trod the path of lovers and died upon its roads.
Their hearts beat so impassive, when torn from their insides
for Death did find them fools in love, from Death you cannot hide.

So unto Love delivers Death the sentence that is warrant
to haunt the heart forever, no matter how inerrant.
Seven gifts does Death bestow upon his loving few
and so to me has Death arrived to keep my pain in view.

a
In twilight hours when all is still and all quiet within,
my mind bleeds tears when reappears the fragrance of her skin.
b
Some days begin both bleak and grim, heavy eyes are moist.
Because the night revisited the echoes of her voice.
c
Or harder still does moonlight find the hurt as twice as much
when Death brings forth the gentleness, the memory of her touch.
d
Revisiting dreams I now accept as part of nights routine
but still Death does impale me on despondent insane dreams.
e
The emptiness of solitude is difficult to pass
without her thoughtful company and ever joyous laugh.
f
Not even on secluded paths, I know it makes no sense,
I find amidst my empty span the ghost of her presence.
g
But Death need not deliver me my final fatal blow,
the longing for her love is death that I already know.


To those of you that live and breathe in passion and in truth,
continue on as you have done in optimistic youth.
Look not upon the face I wear and pity my demise
the seven degrees of sufferance helps keep my soul alive.