this eve is such a disgrace

reminds me of you and all that I praise.

now I make a sullen face

an image of you forms in the sky

the sky that I love

with clouds, birds and colours.

love it more with the butterflies of your memories

that never seem to leave

always playful, playing with me

now my hand is sore

all the poems I wrote

seem to betray me

and I wait helplessly

for showers of mercy

for a hand out of the blues

hands much like yours

to lead me to love