Ariadne’s Woe

Increasingly I wish for things to change
In what way or shape, I haven’t quite worked that out yet
Nothing stirred this heart, quite like your love
And nothing pains it quite the same

You are there, in all my myths and all my tales
Be I Odysseus, and you, Penelope
Or more fittingly you Theseus and I, Ariadne
What use am I, once the Minotaur is slain?

Yet your name crops up everywhere, innate and ornate
In every hymn that I say, in every prayer prayed
Yours is the right of way, on the road paved-
Running through this heart with such delicate grace

It is on your altar that I bleed
Blood; willingly given away
Only to be promptly washed away
On you, no blood stay, on you, no stain stays

Yet with summers, comes winter
With love comes despair
For you can only love someone
You cannot make them stay

And, you can choose someone every day
In each moment, lucid or snared
And you can lay down each thing you hold dear
Your love, your pride, all your fears

Yet you cannot make someone stay
You cannot make them choose you every day
Over things they hold more dear; than you they ever did
So, you are broken, bitter, but still there

A shell of yourself
A ghost of your past
Barely alive
Yet always there

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