by Ben Pickard
When morning broke, I found myself alone,
And not a trace of you was left behind.
What once was lush and green is made of stone,
And all my hopes have fled or died or flown.
What once was pure has now no cure
And flesh has turned to bone.
Beneath the rainbow's far-flung arching hues,
We found a pot of gold that gave such wealth,
But now the sunlight never drys the dew,
And only weeds will grow where roses grew.
So now you're gone, I hear a song
That deafens me anew.
If I could shape the past and start afresh,
These lungs would cease to draw such ragged breaths.
If love was yours and mine forevermore,
My heart would not have cracked before my death.
I set my course for loveless lands
And wish for peace instead.