She listens – oh, so cruel-sweet might!
to my heart’s dull and muffled tone,
as if it were mere clockwork’s flight,
her comfort in the midnight’s moan.
Her head bowed low, her gaze so mild,
as if no pain she ever knew –
yet I lie lost, by night beguiled,
unblooded, bare, and stripped of hue.
She sits upon cold, silent wood,
her lap – an altar, glowing red.
Within her hands – my pride once stood,
my heart, still wet, not truly dead.
She cradles it like dream-born child,
as if it grew from out her womb.
And all within her world is wild –
while I decay in silent gloom.
She lifts her gaze – her eyes now blaze,
two icy stars in endless night.
She gives it back, in mournful daze:
my heart – it cracks, has lost its light.
“Take it again,” her silence weeps,
“It serves you not – it’s spoiled, betrayed.”
And what she stole in secret deeps,
she gave back dead – and I decayed.
