Christopher Haywood Poet Narrative

The Jealous Woman

The emerald fire burns within her breast, 
As wandering eyes betray the vows he made; 
By bitter poison is her heart possessed, 
A sharpened steel within the silent shade. 
To hear his final words above the deep; 
A gentle push—the faithless lover dies, 
A broken promise he no more shall keep. 
She turns her back upon the hungry depths, 
Now silence reigns within her lonely hall, 
Where phantom stains upon the fabric spread;
She won the war but lost the soul of all. 
Though vengeance offered up a sweet release, 
It left a hollow and a craggy peace.
The hollow echoes drift through empty rooms, 
Where every shadow wears a face she knew. 
The garden of her heart no longer blooms, 
Choked by the bitter seeds of strife she threw. 
A heavy iron settles in her chest, 
The cold remains of bridges burned to ash; 
She sought a triumph in a too cruel test, 
And left a ruin in a sudden flash.
She’d give the very breath within her soul, 
To mend the broken glass on the floor, 
To take the parts and make the vessel whole, 
And silence every slamming door. 
The salt of tears now poisons every spring, 
Where once the ghost of hope had tried to sing.

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