Love was betrayed in winter's stillness;

it withered under silent snow.

I stare out windows made of ice and

see the yard's gate half closed.

My frozen garden has lost its bloom;

a brown stained rose on the window sill

a reminder still.

While embers smolder in the hearth

a grey sky fosters surrender.

My banal deed is a sheet of ice,

touching it stings your fingers.

A bitter taste is in my mouth for

lies can never hold a love for long.

The tea kettle still hisses, steam curls

into the room of barren table, two empty chairs.

Excruciating is the heaviness in my chest.

Betrayal is the cowards way;

love is only for the brave,