Cruel Fate

If it isn’t up to me, but my heart, to choose whom I love, Then, it must be capable of mislaying itself in another’s delicate hands And if it can palpitate rapidly at just one glance, Then, it must be capable of stopping its beating entirely. With the wolves, I stand in the very spot you leave me in dolor, The moon volunteering to be a guide through the dark, More out of pity than anything, I reckon And as you leave, I wave and smile with my once complete soul. But just as vanity fades from the picture of Dorian Grey, “This too shall pass,” carved into the deepest flesh, Dwindling, you rise among the brightest and noble stars, While I wave and smile, falling apart gracefully.