Dying Under Rubble.
The ways of love are strange indeed
like a winding river
passing through moments of passion
and fits of rage
caressing our souls
we chase the demons away.

But that was then
and as elusive as dreams
when morning comes
all is forgot
like a teardrop in the rain
or a ghost in the heart,
we stare into emptiness
that of beauty adorning sightless statues.