you tore me apart

you tore me apart (i tear open my heart)
but i gather the shards, i am never without it
(if you go, i go where you go); and whatever
is left is by me for your leaving, my darling
i want
no love (for you have gone, my church) i fear
no sorrow (for wisely i know you only, my pale)
and it's you are whatever my senses decree
and whatever my thoughts will whisper is you

here is the truest torment that everybody knows
(here is the fount of the fount and the hearth of the hearth
and the fire that burn like ire in the skies; which sinks
lower than a bottomless pit or confederate lie)
and this is the sorrow that's keeping the past apart

you tore me apart (i tear open my heart)

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It's true when they say there's a poem for every occasion, even those that you've written. The circumstances then and now may be different, but the lingering ... ennui is still very much the same.