You did not think I knew you were untrue…

So clever were the lines of your deceit,

Yet reading in between, suspicion grew

As every day strange stories I would greet.

You did not hold me when I drew you near,

Blank eyes looked through me to a distant light,

Each whispered kindness I might there endear

Was greeted with the chill of winter’s night.

What does one do when love’s great fire burns out,

Hearth stones bleed warmth beneath cold ashes grey?

There life’s sweet savor scorched, consumed by doubt,

While ember ghosts on dreamless cinders lay.

Truth is the fuel the flames of love live on,

And naught remains when all love’s kindling’s gone.