Empty epitaph

My fingers tremble
the last cards dealt
I write an empty epitaph.

Burnt by heart
betrayed by blood.
My fate has run it's course.

What happiness
I could scrape.
Is all spent, all gone.

The setting sun
it reminds me.
That nothing is for ever.

Beyond the curtain
of day, night beckons.
With the promise of rest.

Her fingers in my hair
I still search, fruitless.
But the night, she beckons.

And so my fingers tremble
in writing my empty epitaph.
For a blank tombstone, o'er vacant tomb.