We speak of death
eyes welling
throat frogged
mind dodging the intrusive

what does it mean to send love?
is that all i can do?

to be humbled and softened
by harsh winter winds
beaten and stoned
curled for comfort
pleading with a deafening silence

where were we before?
will we go back or move on?

and for the cowards
who show no regard
for all the meaning and matter
what of these hollow, shallow men
rotting, collapsing, refusing to die.