We struggle on against faltering winds and we sing:
The discord harvests ash,
Dispersed amid the clash.
Her limbs bare in bare limbs,
Disquieted and brash.
I’ll resent in
Her ascent but
Still our hearts are embers.
A love, a scorn, a fight.
A lover born in spite.
My fists to gather stones,
As scarlet wings take flight.
I’ll relent in
Her descent but
Our hearts won’t remember.
Her upturned palms outstretched,
When all that I have left,
Is a bone deep death’s head,
That she herself has etched.
I’ll repent in
Her lament and
Our hearts will be cinders.
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