Sorrow the Craftsman’s Cry

Your Love Is
Knotted all silky,
Torn and tattered, teared with fear.
Sorrow the Craftsman’s Cry!
Eternally, you think it matters.
Its binds are not soulful sinew of heart
And blood; only smeared with grief apart,
Which moves you further away from absurd
Supercilious ties of bloody dogs, mattered
In wadded fantasy, created in hell,
A wickedness of those your love dispelled Eternally.
There rots bowls of blood, dust
Aggregate in lies of distrust.
There is no love between you and them
Nor them and you.
Your love is a farce, more, it is demonically
Staged, insuring that life for you will
Forever remain frozen, love-locked in hell!