The empty

There were rose pedals laying before me in a trail.
Instead of a heart inside me was a box that read fail.

I walked towards a door, where black butterflies exploded with emotion.
They fluttered so fast, they produced a sound like waves of an ocean.

I saw old rotten trees, mouldy grass, pieces of red glass broken.
Picking up the red pieces of token, emotions flew by unspoken.

Each token picked up was a memory I had left behind.
Every memory striking me a tear, producing pictures to my mind.

Falling to my knees my legs buried in the mouldy grass,
I cried for a long time and shouted no!!!! as my sign flickered brass.

On my knees before a room painted grey, with 2 windows on each side.
I was inside my own heart, the same one which had died.

It was empty, the windows blank without picture or sound.
Loneliness surrounded me, emptiness, me it had found.

Two pictures against a wall, two beautiful pictures of us as we were young.
Each picture sparkled with happy emotions, as my box read: heart stung.

I was inside the empty machine, that machine in which was broken.
You died, and I was suffering this grief, these words unspoken.

Inside this machine, they call a heart,
losing you had tore me painfully apart.

I was forever in this room wondering, asking, when you would be back?
My tears froze my eye lids shut as the night turned into black.

The machine played beautiful lullabies of your beautiful laugh.
Sleeping in the cold until you return with my heart, the other half.

The rose pedals , the grass, trees, and broken glass fade.
I would give anything to see you again, if only this were a dream and you could had stayed.