Dead, dead, dead
Stone cold dead, sans
Warmth or breath
Lies my love for you...
Murdered by the jealousy
And hatred you bore
For those who mothered
Blood of my blood
Flesh of my flesh...
No Phoenix is love
To resurrect from ashes.
Once dead
To dust it turns.
Mathews Ninan
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dead-62/
