The Loss

I am a long way
from fond memories;
from the cold
that made us laugh,
the keys and the strings
which held such wonder.

I am very far from the hopes
caused by magical arrows
from a messenger's bow.

If I am only
The Disappointed One,
it is rather you who has
misjudged me.

In my anger still,
I would rather die
than harm you.
But it shows me
that I am wounded.

Do you still believe
you owe me nothing?
Are you certain you know
this man who does not exist?

If you knew the pain
I carried,
I do believe
you would not stay silent.