Mon Papillon

Tennyson was wrong
it is better to have never loved,
than to suffer a loss as this.

Give me the indignant toilings of a lonely heart
over the abiding pain of a love remembered.

Death is gracious in its finality,
a broken heart lingers, tormenting its bearer.

There is no peace to be found,
nowhere to hide, no hope to be had.

It is the darkest day, enveloping, enduring in its cruelty.
Cloistered, I find no solace
only my punishment for surrender.