The Writers' Circle

Just another day on the calendar
a number and a month,
harmless to the naked eye,
the hole in my heart.

Would it make a difference
if this day ceased to exist?
like the confusion of 
leap year birthdays...
                       I guess not.

Roses weep petals like blood
over the marble stone,
your name scratched
for posterity
incase we forget.

I exist because you did.
I believe because its all I have.
When the light falls away from the sky
I'll go home...
           but not yet.