Sorrow in Love

Think not upon the silence of your woe,
For to do so is death at the archers bow.
Shall you add more misery and despair
To your horrid state, as you contemplate
The many horrors of war? Do you hate
So much that you have forgotten her sight?
Must you turn her memories into blight,
Mere frost that covers up the dew with cold
To overcome the spring of life with old
Grievances? Better laid to rest with winter
Where death is thus bade to lay in defeat
At the hands of Spring's pure and gentle feat.

Go hence from this place, go elsewhere! Hither
From this place of sorrow and pain, fare well!
Yet know as you go that the pains of hell
Shall follow you still. But you know their sight,
Of their cunning shapes and forms. False light shall
They employ to lead you astray, as faith
Leads to hope then to love so would they wraith
Your faith in doubt, your hope in mistrust, frame
Your love with desire's for power. This
Then is what you must do, call upon her
Who is already dust, that she may kiss
Your soul with sweet memories; as sure as
Spring does come after winter shall she save.
Now go, be no longer hates feeble slave.

                                                      Sorrow in Love, (c) Luke Bennette, April 2012