Afield my emotional contempt,
Was disgust,
And dissatisfaction.
My baldric only contained -
Broken pieces of my heart,
and nothing could -
Assuage my besotted anger.
My buckler shielded me not,
of this terrific tragedy,
And straight to my chest,
Bare in its comely gaze,
The arrow struck.

Cravenly I cried,
Only to fill a jar of emptiness
To brook a cataract of isolation,
Loneliness - And misery.

To move on, was a song
A melancholy, and a Durstn't
For nothing was left to gather,
Together...calmly,
My unrepairable pieces -
For this baldric held the weight
Of a lifetime ,
And inestimable loneliness.

I sung not a song,
A period of 21 days,
and yet further still, in my dark days,
I saw an embrasure
And through it, a bright light shone
Which increased the intensity
Of the darkness.
The coldness in the hot winter,
Only made me warmer.
And the warm winds in the cold summer,
Only blew pain in my esteem.

In an eyot I was - fettered
By the strength of misfortune
And flanked to my enemy -
Fate, which I had to face.
Flummoxed and grieved,
I could stand no more.
For that which I called a companion,
My heart forlorn.

These pieces gainsay my eyes,
And this guileful rage
Contradicts my hither smiles.

"Go away, flee from me,"
These words cannot come
And my voice will not vibrate
To echo them out,
And this...
Passionate slavery to my soul.