She

In the cusp of closing night, I look into your weary eyes;
once outshining city lights. I see no way to realize
the healing of this blight – I venture to make a phoenix cry.
Remedy of such mythos might, just prove unjust cries.
Chance restoring your ere vacant sight – fighting soul’s primal guide.
As any chance to restore my bride, binds our fractured lives.

Cure me off,  Heal me in.
Act as your name, i will wait in pain.