My breath is sore within my chest
my chest is sore beneath my shirt
my shirt is torn above the breast
from where you arrow caused this hurt
In disbelief I mark the wound
A wound of spirit and of kin
Could kin of mine by blood-ties bound
cause this grief now lodged within?
No splintered cross or thorny crown
No crown or cross claim I to wear
I wear but what you’ve made my own
This fresh and crimson stain, despair.
I stagger back - my hunted heart
Haunts the ruins of our days.
No wholeness there, no joy, no art
all destroyed by traitors ways.
Bridge and boat lie burnt behind
and burns the friendship that we knew.
One hour past your words were kind-
How strange is change to false from true!
No comments:
Post a Comment