Many a false tear has fallen
from those sky-blue eyes,
cold as glass,
dropped a seeming
million miles
before evanescing
on the white-hot tiles
of the realm of the dead;
the barren landscape
of spirits forever burning,
forever wandering.

I was hurt by her,
weak as I was
and further weakened
by the small dark head,
loveless white face, whiter
than rice-powdered geisha.

No mercy there and
her hard ways,
her wounding words,
cold as the winter moon,
broke me down
like a beaten child.

Still, patient as Job, stubborn
as Gregory of the Stone,
I finally broke from her,
left her wailing
like the widow of Ephesus.

Alone now
on a reckless horse
alone I travel,
voiceless, resolute,
carried where the will
has no ends and
freedom and peace
are anywhere far
from her uncaring heart.

May she burn with her tears,
may she burn
with no dispensation or grace,
no hope of redemption,
no joyous day to come;

burn forever with her brethren
in the kingdom of the dead.

Jack D. Harvey is published in Scrivener, The Comstock Review, Valparaiso Poetry Review, and The RavensPerch among others. A Pushcart nominee, he has been writing poetry since he was sixteen. He lives in a small town near Albany, New York. His book, Mark the Dwarf is available on Kindle.