Stood-up for the last time,
this heart not stone, takes heed:
I will lean against an ox of reason,
inhaling a promise of tomorrow.
emptying pockets of your debris, 
I'll evict your ghosts from
the black halls of my pupils.   
The backbone of time
will raise me from you,
as the tree of endurance
has held me longer
than your temporal limbs
and quivering lips
that promised love eternal
until any breeze did stir
your tortured ragings.