The Sweet-Bringer’s Regret

A soul in silent suffering,

To count the chapters now would be too late;

The tally of years is a hollow thing,

A ledger etched by an indifferent fate.

Should you ask the name of her cage?

It is a labyrinth of crystalline white,

A fortress where time has turned to stone,

Devoid of warmth, devoid of light.

Speak of the spirit within those walls:

She waits for a blossom that refuses to wake,

Watching for the Last Bloom to return

For a lonely, lingering promise’s sake.

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In the gray, senseless sensation of the Between,

Where the lack of touch is a sharpened blade;

Crueler than the silence of the skin

Is the game that the cruel fates have played.

If I were to tell the truth of her heart,

She would weep for the choices I’ve made.

Little soul, little soul,

Dry your eyes and rest your head;

Grief is a currency spent in vain,

Where every word has already been said.

The one you await has lost your thread,

A soulmate counting other hearts instead.

Little soul, little soul,

Please, do not cry for the empty land;

For the one who pens these bitter lines

Is none other than the Sweets-Bringer, the Candy Man.

The one who gave you a taste of grace,

Only to leave you in the shifting sand.