Chōka

Last year at this time
the trees were full with green leaves,
rain poured to the earth,
and each day I spoke with you.
That is when you said
the words that earned you my heart
for eternity.
And though I never asked you
for even a kiss,
before the leaves had turned red,
you had betrayed me,
used what you knew of my heart
to pierce and bleed me,
to suck me dry and leave me,
with no word of thanks.
Red blood blossomed in the snow,
turning all my world
angry at the thought of you
when pain stripped away
affection that blinded me.
I saw what you are:
just a mannequin of ice,
empty and thoughtless
and greedy for compliments.
Even so, my queen,
I can never stay away.
With each new green shoot
that pierces the crust of Earth,
my heart is so pierced
by the knowledge that I fail--
I fail to forget;
I want to think well of you,
and I search for ways
to purify your motives.
This summer is cold,
cold enough to see my breath,
and although I know
you have no wish to hear me,
that you would mock me
or belittle my feelings
if you heard these words,
I want to make you listen,
make you understand
if you can understand them
through the icy shield
that hardens around your heart
and poisons even summer.