Two lovers lay, grotesque in throes of death -
self-diffidence had drawn from poisoned well
a rattle signifying final breath;
another love condemned to living hell.

Reality descended, teardrop rain,
as common sense assassinated dreams,
unconscious lovers screaming silent pain;
true happiness denied these hearts, it seems.

How could this love succumb to earthly ties?
Perhaps the two feign death, a clever ruse,
a passion so commanding never dies,
this would-be King and intricate fair muse.

I cannot mourn this pair with dirge's tune
Mayhap they love but yet, beyond the moon