Betrayed
by life's double edge--
wounded
by one I cherished--
I ripped my heart out
by its tangled roots.
But deep within
I knew it was not love
that basely changed
amid the flames.
I need must give it
some other name
and think not that
I've ever loved
until my love endures.
Without night's dread void,
how could I know the stars that burn?
How could I see purity without the impure?
Yes! I must claim the love that abandons me,
I must own it, though I stand in a place of scorn.
For only that which has been regained
may grant a lasting virtue.
I must dare believe that a wealth of pain
in time outways its defects.
Besides, self pity is caustic to the soul.
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