Crossing the Byway

Skewed, I list across the sideways
Lilting through the courtyard,
Hanging by a thread
Of a rose's bloody thorn.

She is gone.

I float again in the grieving wonder
An empty flame in thy midst,
Hovering and winking in the husk
Of what's left.

She is gone.

My troubled eyes see the image
As an omen for the crucified;
I lean against my Mary Magdalene
But she is gone.

I whisper to my self.

Failing to grasp,
I construe the light without the dark and thus I'm blinded;
I hear nothing but my old broken self
And she is gone.

I cross the courtyard once again,
Attempting to complete the journey for the last time.
Her enmity fills me
And I am gone.