When I reflect on the quantity of passion and beauty that has been destroyed by death I am drawn close to tears.
Death long departed is perpetually with us in vision and hearts shattered.
Beauty fades in reminiscences, recurring in sad Ballards played on crackling gramophones.
Years hustle by, wrinkles appear upon those left with memories.
Photographs discolour, fashions become archaic
As dust takes over, laying her soft mantilla over our world.
No inundation of tears will wash away nor restore beauty lost, passion deformed.
Crippled, passion hobbles away into a corner,
Beauty attempts to sadly renew, amend herself from the carnage inflicted.
Change must occur for growth to turn to passion, and passion to grow to beauty.
Meanwhile, my tears seep on to th blotting paper that is my life.
