Strangers in existence,
Yet as we cultivate the distance,
A thousand deaths for her would I die
For the truth, I am groping,
Blind; desperately hoping
That she believes in an eye for an eye.

As the perpetual light,
Strong, if not bright,
Flickering beneath the ruins of the city;
So the the eternal love,
The sole possesion of
The child on whom she once bestowed pity.

For, her heart, to be near it,
I offer a prayer to the Spirit
To end with the calling of her name.
Though only when I've risen
From the depths of indecision,
Like the phoenix that soars from the flame.