They say we choose our joys and our sorrows
And yet I have come to dread the morrow
That from my choosing has come to follow.
The winter cold lingers in an art and fashion
That is a mockery of the passion
whose burning, having left me forlorn
comes like the twilight before the dawn,
This heavy heart with anger roars
Chained to the unsung melody, it foregoes
The rashness of the beating that was once ours
And bows down to the heavenly powers
No more of these meager lies,
No more of these ties that bind.
I hold you now in the darkened silence and say my silent goodbyes.
The sadness does not compare to the joy
The immensity not to the slightness
That bliss that you receive is nothing compared to the blackness,
For I love you regardless
And fear there is no need to pine
And all sadness subsides when faced with happiness divine.