A Soul of Dark Crystal

Their words are gentle; their thoughts are kind.
And they glance at me, and then glance away,
And I can read the foremost idea in each mind:
That I will give up the idea as time slips away.

I wonder if they know what has happened to me;
I wonder if they realize what I have done.
All the hope I have has been crushed out of me.
I watch with the same eyes the snake and the sun.

My soul is dark crystal; never again can it alter.
I turn my attention to the sword, and they are glad.
They whisper that my life into death will not falter,
And they do not think any longer I am going mad.

Ah, what do they know, whose souls are still crystal?
They don't know, and so they don't know the truth.
They would not know if I told them of dark crystal;
They would call it a fancy or a dream of mad youth.

They don't understand; I have no need to explain.
They are happy with what they know, and I with mine:
The sword that just by being close eases my pain,
And the dreams and the long thoughts that are mine.

A soul of dark crystal tightly focuses the mind,
Strips life down to the dance and the breath,
And reminds me that I still have my foe to find,
And bring down on him, as he brought down, death.