Nine

Nine weak grasps
Of this cruel heart,
One's chance to save,
Hands singed and burnt

Eight lost tales
Of sin and fame,
Locked fast till dawn,
Dust breathes their names

Seven wreathes
Of twisted guilt
Lie to cold tombs
"Death do us part"

Six more days
Of raining strife
To flood the earth,
My world, your life

Five lying strokes
Of broken skin,
Crooked eyes sneer;
Love flees the scene

Four fresh new lies
Of my freedom,
Spreading wild fire
'Young loved woman'

Three fearful tears
Of certain loss,
Dread digs the graves
That hope forgot

Two burning eyes
Of desperate prayers
Mask death's cliche;
What's left is hers

One final chance
Of redemption
"Love conquers all?"
Hangs the question.