Harpstring accusations peel
My ribcage back.  Torn is the lyre
from the minster’s heart — trivial cherub
cast into the flames of nevermore

As bodies bid farewell to souls, my mind
departed me for the irrational unknown –
Left me to be devoured by the monsters of lust
and envy, damned by love.

A fallen angel charmed by all, wants all –
never to rest in a heartbeat’s moment of
contentment.  Love, you elusive lack of
insight, plague me not and leave my side

For love is a friend of vultures who await
my carrion.  The harp resounds no more
nor does the lyre you broke looking into my eyes
and telling me the destructive “impossible.”