My muse
The dark tresses of his soul
The unfathomable depth of grief.
A fight worth fighting
Is not a fight at all.
His tempo guides my words
A requiem of emotion
Finding itself bathed in jade.
I cannot mourn
For what I haven’t truly lost,
But his color is true,
I find strength within it;
A deep, unyielding blue.
He guides me without thought.