Inhaling the razorblade dregs
Of remembrance's bitter cup.
Crumpled-like a broken-backed beast
Exhaling a final, shuddering breath.
Carrying my borrowed reflection's
Stolen memories of the sun,
I bleed a grieving ghost's martyred manhood
Into a lightless land of living death.
Lying, curled, in the comfortless womb
Of self-loathing-like a second birth,
My world is bright pain and confusion.
How can I survive the theft
Of my self-respect-and the mortal blow
Of leaving my son, fatherless, as my father left me?
Sorrow is my bride: always, at the altar,
She waits-knowing I will leave her, bereft;
But, clinging to the frayed threads
Of trust, love, and honor-her hope chest
Is crafted from patchwork promises and forbidden dreams.
Although her wedding gown is soiled-no longer white-
Her eyes are shrouded
By the veil of love.
My love will not forsake me,
And I-drowning-reach for her light
The way any dying soul
Will seek solace and rescue.
I do not deserve her, but cannot desert her.
I am a knight with tarnished arms and no shield;
But, as long as she commands my heart-
And bids me to do what is right and just,
Battling the darkness that surrounds and imprisons us-
My soul is in her service and I will never yield.

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