The hollow sorrow.

As the turtle dove cries

When the thorn bird

falls;

plunging

into

the

roses below.

Self entanglement

no relief of pain.

As the life force stains

the ground below

swallows

whole

replacing

intensity;

a

quiet

dark

numb.

Silent

in its

despair.

Knowing

that only one is there.

There is no

replacement

for the souls

other

half.

No tears to cry

when that piece

was never a

piece

to begin with.

Emptiness.

The black

pitch

Surrounds the

roses.

Their color

once

of life;

blood.

Replacing it

Assassins thorns

now

suffocate

with out

stealing

breath

of the

thorn bird

in

the

anguished

cry.

The

turtle dove

can

only

watch,

soul wrenched.

Fallen stars

from the sky.

As the turtle dove

coos;

the rose

forever dark,

swallowing

the

thorn bird

suspended

in

death

sentenced

with

Eternal

Life.