Language of Suicides

I know it so well
The connotations of crisp
Linen shirt before it wrinkles

The vowels of vibrant
Oaks against a bleak sky
It moans melancholy mists
Among the moss

I can sign in the language
To the deaf -blind-mute
Darkened dank pit
Cold, endless

My love has lost his life
In the quicksand
He chose to step
Into the hole as I grasped
So desperately on to the
Last palm tree standing

With my arm outstretched
Not being able
To reach him
I hurt myself
To watch him die

I cannot understand
His words anymore
It's become muddled
It echoes eternal
Deception of depth

How can you love
Something so frightful
So terminal, so quickly
Yet it drags on for
Many lifetimes
Many, many days
Of such grief

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