Poem

Bitterness is not your bliss,
But shallow hearted decadence –
My love, you’ve lost your mind:
My tears are not your kind.
Thus this foreign tree stands
Against the coldness of biting hands,
And thus I walk, soaked with sadness,
Through this hell – pure brutal madness,
Alone, alone, alone, with one:
The thought of your heart gone, now won
By other eyes.
I sigh goodbye.