The Journal

I found an old book in the attic, It had neither author nor title; I sat there staring at it awhile, Just letting my mind go idle Dare I open this intriguing book That beckons to me today? Curiosity got the better of me And the first page was on display I read the words before me, And I began to understand, I was reading a poem written by A desperate, heart-broken man The message unfolded before me, A woman had betrayed his love; Following are the words he wrote To the world, and to God above: 'She walked into the cold night air, The moon dancing on her cloak; My tears distorted her angelic shape Into a formless cloud of smoke; This woman walking away from me, Without backward glance, nor pause, Almost ridiculing my madness - Of which she was the cause! Let me wake up, I begged the Lord, From this dreadful reverie; I am not deserving of such a fate, This cannot be reality! But nothing changed, I was still alone As I sank to my knees in despair; Lord, be merciful to this fool Who wasted a love so rare Precious love squandered on a woman Who could never fathom the notion Of a man offering a shroud of love, Rendering to her all my devotion I cannot live with her memory, Darkness will not overtake the light; Nor will suffering invade lonely hours... I will drink the hemlock tonight! ' These were the last words in the journal, Restraining tears, I closed the book; I felt a chilling presence in that attic - I left quickly, without a backward look