My heart has been despondent as depression-flavored fondant
That is utterly responsive to the mauling heaped upon it.
And keeping up an audit on a toughness non-abundant
Is alarmingly allotted all this drive--but never spawns it.
Dishonor was a topic I would dodge beyond what's proper,
Loss of ardor will not pardon me from feeling cowered posture.
Before, I was empowered, then a coward-cutting lopper
Took the top from off the towering design routine would offer.
The time we had together then could truly build me nothing
For that negative and regnative beheading was so crushing.
Adjustment to our custom of discussion linked with touching
Was surprisingly divisive--like of silence weaponed hushing.