Locked

A poem I wrote about someone I loved who passed away.

 

Crossing the line is a hobby,
breaking hearts along the way.
Heaven is fast approaching;
only then will I have to pay.

 

 

Cold is the color of my heart,
and my eyes leave all to worry.
But I still bleed I guarantee you,
cloaked in black; death is in a hurry.

 

 

I never wear my heart on my sleeve;
my emotions are etched on my wrist.
I trace ever scar worth mentioning,
and endlessly wonder if I’d be missed.

 

 

Tears never venture into the sun;
they hide behind a mask of smiles.
I pray to a God I am told is great,
yet my own belief is in denial.

 

When the light went out of his eyes,
my hope passed away along with love.
Lying next to his grave willing to die,
screaming pleading I’ve had enough.

 

 

My heart is his and always locked