what holds on
beyond breath
and heartbreak
something forged
that can’t be given
nor can you take
secrets so heavy
through the crypt
and into the grave
death is in bloom
as they cull,
under the moon
an angel of harvest
to dying hearts
a plenty
you can’t take back
what wasn’t yours
in the beginning
many masters craft
but don’t have enough hands
for the building
many minds think
but don’t have the thought
for believing
and many people die
to find out their beginning
starts right at their ending
what am I,
besides lines of vines
entwining
fate, freedom and feeling
what is a destiny
that isn’t fulfilling
what happens when words
stop being so compelling
and the heart stops
being so forgiving












