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.