Elegy
The little deaths which comprise our lives at both ends of disappointment
Unmarked graves number or excuse compromise and discontent

I had no warning in a heart with hope warring, as though I would dissent
Youth has the years and luxury of folly later to repent

The scent of flesh hangs between us lightning seared pungent
My heathen tears drip blindly heedless of your intent

And so the minutes fall like arrows without you, and neither relent
I am forsaken in this sunken garden as statuary struggles silent

The release of what had me caught leaves me falsely despondent
Even thus abandoned I would not revoke consent