I thought I had your heart. And hoped for trust.
You slaughtered both. In streams of dark-red blood
I took the slaying, took it thrust by thrust.
The sand is damp. My feet trod brownish mud.

Your laughter vanished when you closed that door;
Delightful steps – they faded and then died.
No noise was left, but emptiness. I swore,
I cried, I hammered wood and stone. The fight,

It went, and hope took company, as did
All brightness, did all happiness and life.
All what we had, went dead – we waisted it,
Instead of care we sharpened dart and knife.

Now here I stand – with loss beyond belief –
And know there is no quest which serves relief.