Nightmares of the pain
demand that I not sleep,
but lie in bed and weep,
and cry and wonder why.
Trust shot from
love's trusting canon,
against the wall,
shattered,
splattered,
scattered,
to the wind.
Frenzied fear filled thoughts,
of how it was,
wonder
how it will be,
haunt me,
taunt me,
make my heart silently cry,
wondering why,
and when and where.
you will be in Paris,
a block from my home,
right there in Roma,
one door away,
with not time to stay,
or to say hi.
So cry, cry heart,
die,
already
murdered,
dead.
