Out of love - 108!

Who are you to keep her warm?,
Don’t you know she contains fire?
The one which will keep and not destroy you and yours.
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She doesn’t crave and dream of castles, she longs for a home.
The wreath on my dreams should be made of fresh exquisite flowers,
For my dreams have bled enough,
And now, in their death they deserve softness, freshness and care.
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She has no option but to be as fierce and angry as a lion,
what else can handle the fire in her?
The one which burns but doesn’t leave ashes.
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Just put one rose on my grave,
I’ll know you came,
to see me off
one last time.
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How many masks do you wear,
How many faces are you in despair,
To pull that bright smile and glowing eyes?
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How many patterns are you?
Are you even, you?
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Scribbled through the days,
Good and bad, alike
Didn’t know something got created,
In this absurd hunt for respite.
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Even though you love marble,
you would always prefer gold.

That’s what us the lovers,
of moon and desirers of the sun deal with! 

You see shine more than often defeats the glow.
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When I come back wrapped in a flag,
Put a wreath made of flowers from our garden on my coffin,
I must feel home, one last time.
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It’s okay honey,
even I can’t handle my pieces;
You are anyway too new to my misery.