In twilight's glow, your vintage sweetly poured,  
A nectar-rich embrace that hearts in rapture owed.
Yet when your spring ran dry, like whispers lost,  
They turned their backs, unmoored, at what it cost.  

I, the sojourner of your parched and wistful ache,

With gentle hands enfolded all that grief had made break.

I quelled the fervent blaze—an audience to its strife—

A paradox of mercy, cloaked in shadows
rife.  

Yet your retort, a tapestry, each thread entwined with thorns,

Veiled in a bitterness that twisted souls and scorned.

You served me sorrow lavishly on fragile porcelain,

Actions keen as daggers, etching deep the pain.  

Yet still, your grasp constricts with every anguished sigh,

In this relentless spiral where withered hopes lie.

A cruel refrain echoes in shadow’s cold embrace,

With nary a promise of solace or a sanctuary place.  

And you, with every fleeting thought,inflict your sting,

A persistent torment that shadows
the spring.

In this labyrinth of woe, I find
no release,

Ensnared in the echo where once dwelled peace.

Your specter lingers, a ghost in
my veins,

Each heartbeat a reminder of sweet,
bitter chains.

For love, once a refuge, now spirals
in pain,

Leaving me stranded in a tempest
of rain.  

Ensnared within spectral whispers, through dim corridors I tread,

Lost amidst the echo of your hushed, haunting pleas unsaid.

For every evanescent beauty, once radiant, now rare,

Entangles my spirit in this unyielding snare of despair.