The Spirit of Orpheus

How sweet hell sounds knowing you’re there
after fate took you a step in the wrong direction.
 
The perfect song. The ballad of you and me.
Now, just a myth echoed at the foot of Mt Olympus.
 
Nightingales never sing more sweetly than there,
My spirit guiding the music that mourns love lost.
 
The gods that once cried to the story at my fingertips,
have turned colder than the stone modeled after them.
 
Our song is: trees and rocks dancing to our melody
in the meadows where we took our vows,
 
Before I was torn limb from limb by a lack of faith,
Eurydice, my lyre never sounded so sweet than there,
 
the venom of your death more poisonous than the
bite of a snake, or my return from Hades alone –
 
sometimes perfection isn’t meant to last,
sometimes we aren’t given a second chance,
 
the darkness grows longer when you start to see the light.