What sadness lurks behind the eyes of this forgotten stranger -
the soft silent whispers of a possible future,
extinguished by the cold chill of her ghostly mourning -
solemn disregard for all that could ever be.
Where once sprung forth fountains of such careless desire
now lay dormant & dying,
hidden in the hollow restraints
of her still magnificent smile.
The Love that was, is no more.
Who could have done this?
What great pernicious being could have risen
from its eternal slumber,
to anoint this child of wondrous beauty
w/ so much unrelenting dread -
vicious & vile.
Upon no grave of such godless creation
shall walk a more wretched soul.
Yet here I stand,
Unwavering in my conceit & marked by time,
beckoning to all who care to notice of my one great shame.
I did this. I did it all.
There is no deeper sadness than to witness
the ripping out of an angel's wings, -
no more hurtful regret than to taste
your own sickness upon charted lips.
How did this ever come to be?
What deserted truths live in the hearts of men?
Where innocence once reigned untouched
in its sheltered kingdoms of hope & wonder, -
blood now pours from every open wound.
There is nothing more that can be done,
but to retreat into the shallows of my own disgrace -
& to sleep the forbidden sleep
not so gentle
in the arms of imposing darkness -
committed to delivering my idle spirit
to thoughts only of Her,
alone & forlorn,
and all but alive.
