I will not let her death be in vain.
And I can’t deny her,
Through cohesive falls and swells
Of angel’s lyre;
The reliable promise
Of her forgiveness
Plays and cascades
On gentle waves
Of angel’s goodness.
And if I were to catch a glimpse
Of her sweet breath
Upon the moonlit air,
I’d swear
Upon the Fury’s blessing
That she’d come armed
With fiery charms
Of her own sweet
Making.
Yet still,
For now, I must resist her song,
Sink my head further
Than that which plagues
Its mind,
For surely there is work
Enough,
Still to be done,
In this bitter sweet
Filled life of mine.
So yet I’ll turn to live
Another day,
Another chance
Another hope
And, maybe,
This time
I’ll find a different path
To take me home,
A brighter road,
A sweeter route,
Then, when lyre’s plague
Upon my mind
Forces my hand down again
Towards its own,
I’ll gladly let it stake its claim
For my work upon this life,
Will then be done.