By Quill of Night

Steadfast, he, as fortress guarded
In his ivory tower slept
Fearing naught, though faith-departed
Knowing not his lover wept.
Cowardice, thought long-discarded,
Secretly in silence crept
Corroded, as if silver, tarnished
‘Twas his heart - her only quest.

Haunting, held-yet lamentations
Shadowed, formless, quiet-kept;
Scattered, dreadful fragmentations
Clandestine, each vast regret.
Chained, entrenched in condemnation
Both had reasons, undisclosed
Chambers dark, with strong libations
Lost and distant, she deposed:

"Gone is past, from thence, and thusly,
‘Tis this present moment borne
Beloved, ye have yet to trust me,
Recollect, reprieve and mourn.
Harbor ye such love for family;
Dedication; worth unknown
Wretchedly, the wraiths do vex thee
Reaping naught, as they had sown.

Waste not years or months or days 
On feigning in such foolish ways;
Fear and fright, formidable foes, they
Stealing sight, do turn thy gaze.
Lest ye crumble, lest I break thee
Chance is none but ours to take;
Lest ye hate me, lest I make thee
Death becomes us all in wake."

Bereft and weak from endless longing
Fawning, she, for his delights
Frozen, he feared love as daunting
Brazen weapons used to spite.
Helplessness ‘twas nigh like calling
Distant pleas by dark of night
Shielded, he, by stones but falling
Wielded ink by candlelight:

"Swiftly, as by cloak and dagger
HEED NOW, as I take this quill -
Letters such as these must cease now
Go away! Do what ye will.
Serpent as to merchant - heartache
Burden, bested: torment taunts.
Leave me, for I cannot fail thee
Nor can tell thee of mine wants." 

Youth seemed long ago and lonesome
Time began to take its toll;
Days, then weeks and months to come
Were heartless and aggrieved and cold.
Firmly, held he, his resolve, and
Tightly, held she, one long rope;
Desperate to become absolved
From bitterness, this noose of hope.  

"Why do I write, as if to measure
Lasting grief, or sorrow’s tune?
My dearest, surely ‘tis not pleasure
But to pine, regret and swoon.
Deftly did ye take forbidden
Fruit from but one humble tree;
Now, darest ye, escape the hidden
Grasp of which hath yet to be!

Hearest ye my last confession
Spoken under clouded moon:
Sands of time, though deep in lessons,
Do fall quickly, all too soon.
Choose thine poison, choose it wisely;
Only one ye cannot flee
Which ye rather, which more likely?
Either, ye have yet to see."