forgive me, love

forgive me, love

hath left to rot upon the stone,

i clutch mine chest, anon not mine own.

whither once i stoodeth with pulse so fleet,

a did shoot hath madeth mine own soul retreat.

yet strange—no flote through veins didst pour,

as i hadst did dream in thoughts ere.

mine heart, instead, didst swell with ache,

with eyes to whither mine love didst wake.

the lady stoodeth aloft, that lady handeth did hold high,

a caliv'r aim'd 'neath the sky.

i blinked—but swift the bullets did sing,

and through mine flesh, their chorus did ring.

the verdant grass did drink crimson festinate,

as breath hath grown short, and time didst eth.

with trembling lips, i gaveth mine own plea:

"forgive me, love—what wrong did see thee?"

#poemreview