Shadows have driven joy askew--
no light and laughter to be found.
His soul doth wade through Hades fire,
passions' heat driven to ground.
Beauty is now in morbid visage
seen through dark soul veil.
Her sounds are no longer pants of ecstasy;
now death's whispered moans or wales.
His sun has set behind dark clouds,
yet, his eyes with fervor burn;
his gnarled hands drip virulent ink
as she awaits his spring's return.