I am but a thief in the night,
one heart taken for one exchanged,
one for love and with love remains.

To steal most precious it's gentle being,
to cast in doubt with doubt disdained,
to steal without compassion and sorely stain,
to bestow upon it such ashen pain,
without considering the loss or gain.

With loss of insight was not seeing,
the fragile balance of it's being,
with blinded rage and no feeling,
did spurn and abuse without a care,
a love so precious and itself so rare.

What thief am I with mine hand have riven,
a gift of heart so trustfully given.

But lo alas I did learn,
that it is but one heart being two in one,
that so in the striking did strike myself.
For such a blunder I deserve no help,
for in hurting the one, in mine soul pain I felt,
for the pain of the one is pain in the self.

Forgiveness I expect not that is plain,
for in that I've learned,
not to make such a mistake once again.


Ric89