She hides her scars among the stars,
each night, forfeiting sleep.
Amidst the parts of broken hearts,
the constellations’ weep.
She knows he tries; but still, the lies
lay, mocking at her feet.
The love she knew has proved untrue
and married to deceit.
She sees him stand and hold her hand,
while slipping on the ring?
He swears a vow but here and now,
It hardly means a thing.
She loves him still; that stubborn thrill,
refuses to defer.
Through dismayed tears, she carries fears,
that doubt his love for her.
The weight of guilt, doth wearing, wilt
this man, who is her life.
She feels his pain, regrets the strain,
that cuts him like a knife.
But perfidy, that broken key,
has built a strong redoubt.
This fence and outside influence,
conspire to keep him out.
Reality and fantasy
both fought to wear one cape.
Within one sleeve, he found reprieve;
a temporary escape.
Excitement sought, diversion bought,
with but a kindly word,
and though insane [against the grain],
he followed undeterred…
She turns to find a tortured mind,
sharing her pillow now;
some memories, now enemies
paint furrows on his brow.
She strokes the hand of her husband,
and leans to taste his lips.
She feels his love, as [hand-in-glove]
into his arms she slips.
Chris Birrane © 2012