The Sovereign and the Silence

My lofty words are met with your disdain,

Yet every breath is born of you, always from you.

If doomed is my fate, to you I wept my pain,

While you, by turns, mock with laughter or freeze in silence, too.

My eyes, ablaze with passion’s fire, have sought your gaze,

Though I bid you look away, I know you see it through.

If love-sick is my soul, it is your flame that sets the blaze,

Know it stems from your hands, my graceful torment, from you.