By Bud Koenemund
Thy name, which I worshiped ‘bove all others –
Goddess of my idolatry – a prayer
Once whispered in reverence, has smothered
Piety, like a fire denied air.
Beauty exalted; enskied by angel’s
Voices; celebrated in the Heavens;
That word, so pure and sacred, now doth quell
My life, leaving a faithful soul riven.
And, even as fragments struggle toward light,
Betrayal drags me deeper into Hell,
Unleashing horrors; such harrowing sights
None, save perhaps Alighieri, can tell.
“Her” – my Dark
Lady – will as muse endure,
deception I remain inured.