My Lady.

My Lady is a siren who conceals herself within her work.
Her sweet ears deaf to the words of my love
and eyes myopic to deeds motivated by passion.
What ocean does My Lady sail upon that she is unable to feel the swell of my heart?
Of what land does she dwell that she cannot decipher this language of desire?

I fear though that I matter not to My Lady.
Of my love she gives not a care.
For the love that My Lady holds is for another,
Her deeds of love are worked for him alone.
Whilst his words are bland, benign, mere rhetoric.
Mimicking love
Deceiving her heart, yet feeding his ego.

In the deep quiet moments of the the winters night I listen to my heart sobbing.
Waiting, for My Lady's recognition....

x