Would It Had Been Different

This cold morning buried in blood
the sheets twist in unspoken torment.
A pale white arm silently slips, and from a vein
seeps the last liquid of being.

..........................................

And you stand safely, swaying before me,
blade held aloft, you wretched man.
Look at what you've taken from me.
Look at this raw mess of my body.

Your head is nodding; words burst like bubbles
from your mouth: I love you, I love you so...
But this time there is nothing to be saved.
Here is a clean slate. I'm not afraid.

Standing there stunned by the enormity of
what had to happen to someone else,
you forget as your heart drums cleverly within,
that you, the living, are now dying still.

And you're blind to the fact, for it is too soon,
that with this last thrust of your loving knife
you left each one of my apologies for you,
In the past which is now strictly yours.

And at last I am saved from your snarls and your sneers,
the callous grip of your hand, the burning breath from your mouth.
Whilst you, you will live in your own sweet hell
But all shall be well, and all shall be well.

.........................................................

This first winter morning, frost clings to the pane.
The beauty of twilight sledging in snow...

Oh Lord what have you done with your fury?
Oh, what have you done?