(...)

(…)

Break these four walls apart,
In the chambers of my heart
Where all is deserted, and dry—
Where I have come to die.

Say these wounds are not only mine,
To feel, kiss, or define.
Is it too much still? To be this way?
To be so close, and yet led astray
By what hands may guide
To what lies between us, inside?
“I do not know,” the snow replied.

What ails the recalled laughter
That shall rise never after?
What joys he perhaps remembers,
Now only ashes and embers.
I go sleeping to the fields beyond
Waiting for the past to respond
Where the unanswered questions reside:
What took the hope that was to be my bride?
What took his beauty from my side?
“I do not know,” the snow replied.

Take these four walls that surround—
These chambers below ground.
I cannot carry the burden I bear,
For my love is not there,
For my love has gone sleeping in the field beyond,
Where no sun of mine has ever dawned.
Why unto me must this woe betide?
Was it true love that was the love denied?
“I do not know,” the snow replied.

© 2021 Marten Hoyle