They say there's strength in love; this love of mine
I'd trade for hatred's weakness, gold for gilt,
That I might grasp the wounding dagger's hilt
and pull it from my breast, to plunge in thine.

For every hateful word I'd give one back,
And scorn your love, as you have scorned mine.
Upon your heart, my love, I'd nicely dine
If I but had the weakness that I lack.

Yet you disdain the strength of that command
Which keeps me bound within its iron hold.
You dance upon the wreckage of my soul,
And name me "coward" when I stay my hand.

Rather, be glad I love you as I do;
It stands alone twixt certain death and you.

- Drea Leed -