She’s the calming blue among a mystifying grey,
A fighter as art burning in your fiery rage.
The blue birds sing above the mountain’s arch,
Your hand pressing on her chest as she fights for a breath,
She prepares to be dropped into a pit of regret.
As you stand and watch, miles apart,
Your love for her is an anchor disguised as a net;
You should have help her but you left her instead
To burn in your rage and to fall from your cliff.
The birds flow around as she calls your name,
Only to be covered by feathers and songs
Of the ones who found love, the kind that holds on.