Ghosts of our love

Every poet has someone in his life who's immortalised in his poems, mine's her

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**Words turn to poetry,
My cries become melody.
I cannot hate her, despite all that's happened�"
What is this tragedy?
A memory that won't set me free,
The pain of not forgetting her is my misery.**

I smile, but grimly, as I am slowly transcending into insanity.
All I have left are thoughts of our company�"
No matter how much I write, I thought I was ready
To let go of the things that always felt so heavy.

Can it all have been folly?
Did it mean anything, while my hands were bloody?
I wonder, was it too hasty?
Why does the wind blow so fiercely?

With all the chaos, I was no longer steady,
Enduring the trials, never to be ready.
My breath rests; my silence turns cacophony.
In the end, you were my lady.

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