The sweetest smile,
the freckles on your face,
the dream,
the green in your eyes,
the golden in your hair,
the rock,
the tree above your grave.
The sweet and confusing voice of death;
her dark hair,
her talent was to dream,
and her smile to persuade.
She guided me there,
unknown, afraid, confused, and desperate.
But now I see
the shallow grave
which I can't bear.
At last, at last,
I have arrived,
the somber tone,
the cold of wind,
the lovely girl I knew
now rests here below
and dreams.
No name,
no flowers on your tomb,
only a prayer
and a song
for all this gloom.
Neither sadness nor happiness
can change the memory of you,
will death perhaps?
Will the sea between us?
Poor, broke, alone, or rich?
Nothing but your heart
can feel this peace.
One day you will rise to the stars,
in this vast unexplored and unknown space
of possibilities and woe.
You reached out for me,
and today, oh well;
Today I write for you my love.
For you,
I write my love,
for you...
A poem by,
-S. I. Guzman
