I stand alone,
forsaken,
forlorn among mankind.
The mockery of princes is upon me—
yea, even paupers shun my touch;
a wanderer am I,
stripped of home and
belonging.
Morning brings no respite,
relief refuses to aid me—
sunlight only bends her scornful gaze
upon my face
‘til I am exposed,
and night offers no rest from my
oppression.

Frail beats my heart.

Yet fain would I bear the weight
shame throws upon my shoulders—
if but for her I ward off blows
that fall on me,
oh may my heart rejoice!
What man would say of her
may her innocent ears never hear;
if I may prevent the torture of mind
that ought to befall her,
the poisonous lash of wagging tongues
that smear the helpless with lies,
Lord, may I—and never cease!
Grant me that joy which comes with
everlasting
sacrifice.

But alas! if only will was subject
to mindful care.
Though outwardly
my skin gleams with unfaded youth
and my limbs are vibrant with life,
the heart within my chest fails,
breaking under iron claws of cruelty.
I feast my eyes upon her soft,
ignorant, darling face,
and, mid-torment, wish for peace.

‘tis said that death waits longest
for those who long for it most;
yet my heart has not the power
to restrain this fervent yearning
for eternal
rest.
With dragging steps, I trudge on.
Death is cruel to refuse
my only wish; I must admit
that glory is but a glimmer,
ever fading on the fringe of twilight.

Darkness seeps into dusk.
My lids fall shut.
Mine is a vision of a beautiful figure,
slight and bent as a willow tree,
sweet, silver eyes lifted up unto my own…

It is the torment of another
endless
night.