Though I've called your name a thousand times,
my words are blown back into my face.
The wind makes my skin harder still.
The clouds race by over-head
and I fight to remain standing,
the signs of endless journeys shows in my weakened stance.
I wish for the ground to open.
I have been around the world and back,
I have re-lived every memory,
re-dreamt every dream and felt every touch (again).
Still the clouds will race,
the wind will cut and soon I will fall.
The dust will form a mound that shall be my tomb,
never to be whetted by the tears of mourning,
because I was lost long ago in a colder world and lost you forev