Neath a rock, my fear I hide,
Travels I run away,
My eyes deceive perchance I lied,
My heart will not stray.
He told me thus, death or not,
Depends on answer true,
Death to him, may he rot,
Insane my love for you.
He is coming, take my soul,
Keep it safe, hold it tight,
Savage anger, taking its toll,
A Breath I take, I do what is right.
He will not win though he wills it so,
Oh, my heart, he reaches for me,
He thinks, he sees, but he does not know,
And his death brings things unseen.
©Cynthia Clark