Undying Love part II (burgundy roses)

My undying love for you
Has never changed;
Let the heavens welcome us
At the end of our days,
And may the worlds forever
Know our names;
Let tales of our legendary love

Be whispered in intimate settings,
And romantic cafes;
The essence of our commitment,
And dedication
Will be reenacted in plays;
You are the blood 
That run through my veins;
On that day when all tears
Are wiped away,
I shall again hold your hand
And say:
Your are my light;
Beside me you stand 
Adorned in white;
You are beautiful beyond 
A thousand lush green valleys 
At the dawning of the sun;
The kindness of your eyes
With no justice my words
Could describe;
The length and fullness of your hair
Are like a thousand endless waterfalls 
Sprinkled with gold dust,
Glistening in the summer sun;
Your skin is a marvelous wonder,
Delicate and precious 
Shimmering under a full moon
In the soft caress of the twilight;
Your lips are as soft and beautiful
As burgundy rose petals
In the freshness of the morning dew;
Your nose is like a perfect sculpture,
Crafted with the precision 
Of the maker’s skilled hands;
Your earrings compliment
The silhouette of your neck;
Bracelets adorn your wrists,
Highlighting Your loving
And graceful hands.
You are my day,
And you are my night.
I love you … I love you …
Life could never destroy us,
And death could never separate us;
You are the wind that carries me
In endless dreams;
You are my rest …
And peaceful stream.
You are ingrained in me;
With tears in my eyes
And on one knee,

I affirm to all who hear or see,
That you forever
Are my lady.

Chronicles of the Desolate

Pain rains from the eyes of the afflicted
Suffering knows no bounds in the void
The black hole draws in and slowly consumes
Cries and wailing reverberate in echoes of torment
Who will record the chronicles of the chronically ill?
Desolation takes hold and stifles unmercifully
The dead lie in state but their souls restlessly move
Sudden darkness covers all as the last rose is thrown
Under the black lace veil the last tears are shed for the unknown
The crow looks on from the shadows with piercing eyes
The rejected and desolate gather so heaven will hear their cries
They are counted in the hundreds of millions with sodden eyes
In G minor Devil’s Trill Sonata is played 
It is the dawning of the sun that they eagerly await
In the sufferer’s role call one by one they say their names.

That man should dwell in living hell
At the final hour thus tolls the bell
A life of pain from birth to death
Perpetually he sought his rest
Despite his search no rest he found 
The abyss it pulled him to the ground
With all he gave and nothing left 
It was then he felt the devil’s breath.