Recordor Mortis Nostrae


Remember that I had to die,
That endless days don’t fill the sky,
Where silken memories fall
Against the pillars we built up high.

Devotion killed our sins,
Blanketed the hate within
That built our walls in darker nights,
And sent us on follies flight.

Remember that you once lived,
That fondness placed her hands
Against your skin and kissed your nape
And drew you into tenderness.

Were there broken wings?
To tender the hands of endearment,
Swaying in the gentle winds
Of inclination and our kindness?

Death asked for friendship,
Drew me close to her nurturing breast,
And touched my forehead
With slender fingers, blessed.

Her form searched the stars
To displace her wintery kiss,
Her hibernal feelings hid the warmth
Of her tender lissome abyss.

She took the name Memento Mori,
To show the world that there was more
Than empty streets on lonely roads,
Astray from extinct stormy odes.

We shifted and phased
From life in ways incomprehensible,
Uncompromising, uncomplicated,
Seeing all our times before us.

I saw your smile,
and shed your tears,
I devoured your love
And dissolved in your fears.

There were never simple times,
Each moment encased in all we find
In life to draw us to their strength,
And I saw your heart bleed the heavens.

Crying out the world’s we melt
Between for days, less and great,
Convincing myself to sleep again
Beneath our expiration…

Remember that I once lived,
That endless days permeate the sky,
Where silken memories infuse
the pillars we built up so high.

Remember that you had to die,
And in fondness my hands
Touched your skin, I kissed your nape,
And drew you into tenderness.

You were my attainment,
My infatuation and atonement,
We walked the stars, body in body, soul in soul,
And death become our guide.

Poem © Phen Weston 2015



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