1Drip, drop: the drop-drip of shame,
Something brother, kin to pain;
Is it the rain falling down through the leaves,
Or is that but how the needle deceives?
The crack of the thunder split his mind,
Enticing him to untie his victim,
Failing to note the repose of his kind:
A killer, a soldier, a monster in chains.
And she, in her bountiful, unmatched gains,
Was still pinned by beauty to some fate mundane,
Though not even winds of a life-wrenching woe
Could ever so magically from my heart throw.
Forever the storm of my life has decreed
That never forgiven may be my misdeed,
Though no priest of mercy has offered to lead
My soul to the truth of why I have grieved.
7/29/05