Something New

Was it upon his touch that she so turned
Into that hard and breaking angry thing?
Did he make that? Make her? And is he spurned
Because he said some words that blindly sting?
And she transformed before his startled eyes –
A thing he loved – someone he loved – and now
A viper, tiger, brooding beast that flies
Upon his heart and through his bone and brow.
Yes, fool, you did – you made the thing that haunts
Your active nights and lazy, sleepful days;
I am a voice – only a voice – that vaunts
Above all else, and taunts your thoughtless ways.
Can we make peace? Can ever there be peace?
Yes, sure, my fool, death brings that glad release.