Laveignette

I, the brother
of faithful Laveignette,
  hath shaped a world
of rotten stone.  I hath
wrought a being of that
which never before ailed
our own setting with life. 
I hath undone the work of
my enemies, all to which
hast been devised the most
unspoken of ends.  I hath
conquered,
Yes!  Conquered!
Conquered for all that shalt
seek a dwelling of my revival
of all will that is good into
a world,
my world of rotten stone. 
Yet I, the brother
of faithful Laveignette,
would take it all back,
or give it all up,
but for one look at the smile
of my faithful sister's lips,
for one last treasured look
of her gleaming eyes.
Yet here she lies!
Here is the cursed thing that
marks her body!
And then I see myself here,
and I wonder that there are
some that would call me master,
for there is no drop of grace in
this body if this body cannot
bring her back.  There is no light
in my eyes if they cannot see her
standing, breathing, smiling. 
I call myself the lord of this rotten
stone, yet it is of this rotten stone
that was carved the marker of her body!
It is of this rotten stone that she
will rot until she is not but bones,
a sad skeleton of love, a marked
mockery of something that was good. 
  No, I am not the lord of rotten stone. 
It is the rotten stone that holds my sorrow
in it's bosom, and it is only sorrow that is
left in me. 
  I am not the lord of rotten stone