Heartstrings that play the dirge of the dead, Memories mark gravestones with what she said. Decrepit ground outlined with rotten fences; The remnants of my useless defenses. Spirits mutter soft spoken cries, Memories of my lover’s “sighs”. My heart, from chants, begin to unearth, From below the soil of the rotting turf. Invoked by murmurs of her ghostly moans, My heart does beat, encased in bone. Rising from the hallowed ground, I hunger for that solemn sound. Undying, relentless, endless rage, Pouring out this heart that’s caged.