Oh the woe of the heart that has looked for love, To find in its absence neglect and cruelty abound. It makes of the kindest soul a most fragile thing Who flinches from love as if an angry hand raised. And of a soul wishing only to be loved and seen Until a wound too many leaves the heart swollen A thing engorged by the fear that holds its reigns. And mistrust is now the harbor for any growing love With words to welcome with both knives and kisses For there is no knowing where love shall be received And whether the heart shall flutter in panic or relief With old fears making of truth a most murky thing It cannot be helped then that that a ruin be made A cruelty existing always as near as the toss of a coin And they who have been shaped by hurt and lie Themselves swing a blade that they would deny For none see themselves as the doer of misdeeds Where all, even in love, can in frailty falter and err And here then the same fear whence wounds came Obscures and clouds to make of truth a casualty As it is no easy thing to see clearly while afright. Which will make of the first impulse a thing of pain But in love all fear must be put away, in all humility As no heart can weather the cruelty that panic makes Masks must be removed to see clearly, and be seen To grow closer than might otherwise ever have been And to witness one's own sins in the clearest light So that in contrition all things can, in love, be made right Less the masks pretended usurp the self made of deed And the wheel of fear and cruelty never cease turning.
