Hands wrought under the dark veil...

Category: Poetry
Hands wrought under the dark veil…
“What is it that makes you so pale and faint?”
- I’m afraid that I made him drunk with the ale
Of bitter anguish and torturous pain.
Could I forget it? He stumbled out, wavering,
His tormented mouth was twisted and grim....
I ran down the stairs, not touching the railing,
At the end of the walkway, I caught up to him.
I yelled after him: “I was kidding and only.
If you leave me today, I will die.”
He turned back and smiled, so unbearably calmly,
“Don’t stand in the wind,” he replied.