Sinless Birch

An empty church, A lonely bride

A mourning cross, A heart that died.

Look deep in the pool; A sinner still lives,

Tears ooze out, A love still brews.

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Blessed with the mark of destiny’s whip,

He lived a prisoner of the sinking ship.

She gave him freedom, he aspired it not

Cursed silver from the pious lot.

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Death was near, it always was

To claim the soul, fulfil it cause

But it came so late, lost in shade,

Boon or bane, the miseries of fate.

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For foolish feelings rolled in time,

They both swam in the river of lime.

Call on to the hand that writes all plays

To justify this act where tragedy stays.

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To give them freedom and moments and hope

And push them slightly of the slope.

To give them love, A dream, A day;

Then shatter all that, like a castle of clay.

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Amidst the journey he eloped with death,

An aesthetic agony is love shibboleth.

She weeped in vain, her soul in pain,

Brumal grim of a fiendful rain

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The rays of hell, scatter by heavens lens

Seemed so sour, her convalescence

The weary wish, ebbed and glazed,

Across the faith, her vision dazed

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This much is the story and for that sinless birch,

A lonely bride and an empty church.