Member-only story
Ventures of the Heart
spoils of war
I did reach out late
Such are the vicissitudes of fate
And by the sweat of one’s brow
Never to be conceived how
The small ventures of the heart
Oft relents ’til it starts
To embroil that lowly spirit
Unsteady to march
As is sacrilege, as is war
Never likely to bore
Competing in ignorance
Even a thousand ventures of the heart
Should I weave the dark arts
Fall down, be aghast
For it is written in the stars
Surely
…or even haughty fields of galahs
Thus, be censored as lore
The likely poseurs of yore
Begone kindred spirits
My assassinated soul
For I’ve tried not to sin
Once again …and again
I’ve deceived the lone fishers
I’ve dined on their sole
Their fish fingered goodness
Their chicken breasts cold
But acute the heartbreaker
Even if a thousand hearts stole
The heart be a wanderer
A purveyor of goals
Untoward is its settling
And selfish its hoard
Unbecoming its towlines
Makes frivolous its haul
The vicissitudes of fate
May never be forthcoming
Deceived by its foibles
And spoils of war
