poetry
Am I forsaken — do you desert me
Were we not lovers for a month’s lament
Now only conceived by these hollow pleas
Having supped at your altar’s sacraments
Tapped the devil’s door — so deplorable
Rummaged in the village square like a fiend
Wilted by cheers — irreconcilable
Then be kicked to the curb — sight yet unseen
Too proud to beg even tied to your throne
Trod the night’s moonlight by the greatest lies
Rode a worried wave, honed but never prone
To falsities, nor dual sympathy’s cries
One thing said may often mean another
One trail blazed is not refuge for rest
One day’s victory usurps all others
Devotion is not what our words attest
Why are we so quick to judge all others
Why cannot affections last forever
In our hearts we find our greatest lover
And by dreams contort we must endeavor
Our stage is always set awaiting fall
The finger always poised upon the sword
Is blame apportioned evenly to all
Is justice dispensed by the blade or bawd
