remorse

The air is filled with remorse of
none other than that which
I had known to be falsely
enamored of the words that
sweet breath had ere whispered
since the ghost of your dawn
had departed from my moonlit
borw made pale with weeping
tears of empty poisoned air
none is more dangerous than
he whose words of dignity
sting like thick choking smoke
on weary eyes and
sweeps the dust of love
behind the rotten door and
seals it tight to chase away the cold