What is love if not the vengeance of fate,
burning its way through the gleeful past;
Tying sweet romance to a raging pyre,
Strangling life with misery’s thread,
In a world that’s already dead.
Catastrophe strikes and we all lament,
But one must work to save the day,
lest the fire consume the hay,
we must make them all content.
Doubt must be borne in the face of doom,
Hope drives illusions to clog the mind,
the priest offers closure and God is kind,
the soil demands yet another tomb.
In the face of anguish the lovers chide,
their tempers raging, and love subsides,
hope forlorn, wrath sworn, hearts torn.