brings thee moments of mistrusting breath,
know that after my cold enfolding death
there will still come a rising, and setting of tomorrow.
And if thou not find comforts name
in dew-struck gardens of leaves and flowers unfurled,
know that for thee they have opened and uncurled
and its flowers will accept tears and rain the same.
Yet if thou shall find hands to comfort thee-
hands that not remind thee of mine own,
then my cold enfolding death will have shown
that our love was nothing I thought it be.
– John Boome
I live in the United States, WA
Greatest influences for my poetry are Sylvia Plath, Walt Whitman, John Donne, Lang Leav, and Robert Frost.