A Man of Changes, A Man of Loss

(THE WIDOWER)
 
Had he fallen
He might have been saved,
But he did not fall,
He merely swayed.
Fear is rigid
While sorrow flows
And where the fine line rests
It was fear he chose.
Or did he choose?
Had the choice been his
To precede Hope's dying breath
With Moira's precise and stealing kiss?
And for Hope's passing
Had he not worn a black band
Too quickly concealed
By his new bride's hand,
Who's envy, denying
The sanctuary og grief,
Lost him Despaire
Which lost him Belief.
 
Moira pronounced Hope
Null and void.
Her memory dead,
Her presence destroyed.
The slop and scrape
Of mop and pail
Rid a life
Of all detail.
A harsh brush scoured
The household clean.
Nothing of Hope
Had ever been.
No lover's eye
Could he now find,
Where mirrored hearts
Had souls entwined.
No silken thread
That weaves love's braid
Where Joy had laughed
And pain had prayed.
No corner, shadow,
Trail or trace.
Where, why and how
Had he lost this place?
The question hovered
Too afraid to be asked
In the blaze of derision
Moira unmasked.
Though it begged an answer
Across a starch-cloth sea,
The opposing shore
Refused its plea,
Settign down her fork
And bone handles knife
To dab at the corners
Of her victim's life.
By pernicious slant
And dainty slight,
She cliched his loyalty
With all her might.

At Hope's crossing
Moira came.
Moira, La Mort,
Death was her name.
The silent sweeping,
The rush and glide,
The arc of her blade
To his blind side
She scythed accusations
Instilling disgrace.
Askance implications
Were common place.
For his previous life
He must atone,
Its shame exemplary.
Its discrepancies known.
Her case against him
Impeccably built
On impending betrayal
By former guilt.
His fear and failure
Rose to enhance
The yellow flame
In her preditory glance.
She then devoured,
Craven eyed,
The strengths and virtues
She so despised.
Afeared, confused,
Deceived, distraught,
He could not see
That he'd been caught,
But looked to Moira
To help redeem
His total loss
Of self-esteem.
She who invades
Does not recede.
No part of him
Would she concede.
A past dismanttled
Day for a day,
By strange default
Just spilled away
To leave a man
And all he had seen
Barely believing
He had ever been.
Now so powerless
Where once so bold.
Where once so fervent
Now so cold.
No Faith nor Comfort
Could disarm
The hoods and blindfolds
Of Moira's harm.
Insight to ashes,
Instincts to dust,
No passion, no dream,
No vision, no trust.
He blamed himself
For all he had lost,
This lifelessness
He thought the cost.
Life's lustre
By Hope begotten,
Now humourless
And long forgotten.
Life's clear essence
By Hope blessed,
Now grey as granite
And put to rest.
His history's removal,
His spirit's dispersion,
All, relinquished
To Moira's coercion.
The coin had landed,
He'd lost the toss.
Heads for changes,
Tails for loss.

He had fallen
He might have been saved,
But he did not fall,
He merely swayed.
Fear is rigid
While sorrow flows
And where the fine line rests
It was fear he chose.
Or did he choose?
Had the choice been his?

(December 1990)