Fear not thy twisted tongue,
though words of adoration,
once bright with remembered years,
now fall upon deaf ears—
ignored as though they never were.
Torturous, how time
hath silenced thy once-proud voice
and rendered it mute.
Yet now the veil is rent, and truth cuts keen:
her faithless heart hath wandered far from thee,
bestowing upon another what was sworn thine own.
Bewildered stands the soul, struck dumb by such deceit—
bitter the draught, and sharp the sudden blow,
that love so cherished should prove false and cold.
Yet grace demands I take my leave with measured tread,
no clamor raised, no final curse bestowed—
only a quiet bow to what we once held dear,
and silent steps into the waiting night.