After Byron

She doesn’t walk in beauty like the night,

But in the path of menace as it sways,

Around her, to her left and to her right,

It bars her progress in a thousand ways.

And nothing good that’s either dark or bright

Meets in her clouded aspect or her eyes,

For she can only step across the light

And cut the branch from where the moonray lies.

 

Though words had always posed as though a friend,

They pick their moments, laughing as they go

To cover her and drag her to the end

Of somewhere that she can’t begin to know.

These moments never were her time to spend

And so she feels as though she were a thief

Creating fractures nobody can mend

That tear a canyon through her self-belief.

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