(...)

(…)

You could beat me, torture me, and leave me for dead
But wouldn’t you, wouldn’t rather love me instead?
If you could tear down these walls, and rip the castle apart
Then surely, surely you also could mend my heart

Broken by your hand, only your hand can mend this
Though perhaps it is a dream, merely of a kiss.
I see you coming home, admitting to what blinds us
From all the handsome light that yet binds us.
And others have prayed, others have prayed the same
That you will see me; and come home to me again.

And would you leave me at the spinning wheel
That my bloodied hands may never heal?
Would you leave me in the sea of threads and frost
Too wearily vast to be crossed
And let your servants walk on the absence of my bed?
Just let your servants walk on through my window
With faces that I never will know?
But wouldn’t you, wouldn’t you rather love me instead?

I still see home, I still see home when I see your eyes,
Though I wake to no sunrise
I still see home when I think of you and your embrace.
I still see home when I dare to look into your face.
Was that a child I saw in tomorrow’s arms, sleeping
Or was it merely my own soul weeping?
Will you leave now with his future cries left unsaid,
Or would you rather, would you rather love me instead?


© 2021 Marten Hoyle