Sometimes I hear him moan in his sleep
and my heart aches
I wonder what is left for him to dream of
after he's given up on it all
And what it is that haunts his subconscious

He'll never feel the strength of these emotions
He'll never know the intensity
and the depth of these words
I'll never know the pleasure
of breaking someone's spirit
In such a kind, deceitful way

I remember when we met at the cemetery
and he showed me his favourite place
One solitary column draped with a surrendered banner;
the foundation had crumbled below
and it was half enveloped in moss.
Walking away that night only left an opening
for a memory that would draw me back.