The torpor of the night resuscitated the weight of memories,
That not even the deluge of death could erase,
Like banks of mists and ruins all around him,
The sweet balm of winter refreshed the images of her face.

The ice sheet of his oblivion was shattered into a thousand pieces,
As the night pressed down upon his feelings, spewing its ancient curse of memory,
Where the moon’s pale glow articulated the obscure language of the past,
As the desolate face of his wife’s tremulous reflection emerged regretfully.

The alluvion of time swept over him, reviving his aching heart with emotions,
As if fed by the fury of a lightning flash,
As he reached out to touch her, to break the fetters of loneliness that bound him,
The sorrow in her eyes, reminded him that she was just a shadow in time,
An ephemeral soul garbed in beauty, that would soon leave him wretchedly behind.

And now as the night toils into morning,
And dreams are thrown into the fireplace of forgetfulness,
He realizes that her memory was just a recycled image in his eyes,
Where pain had irrupted into the snow of his life,
With its endless spirals of ice and liquid skies.

And as his loyalty to his life crumbles, like sand,
Among the stony rubble of a reprieve too late,
He betrays the moments without her,
When days and nights were once a shapeless blur,
And their love was nothing but a cemetery abandoned to its fate.

Now they are two hearts that lie impregnated with the victory of forever,
In a place where phantoms and death can no longer make their nests,
A place where two lost souls can finally be together.