Let this at last
Be in the past
It was unbeknownst
To me, it bears my angst.
Your claim to fame
Has brought shame
Finally engendered to tame
Your mind games.
Well hidden
In the lane
It had lain
Supple turn to bane.
It was so insane
That it stayed supine
But, when faced with unease
Your voice seized.
Chills on the bridge of your nose
A touch of warmth! Who knows?
The comfort on the cold floor
Alas, you turned the king without a roar.
Your moan died at birth
In the icicles of death
In your dried throat
It died without a note.
All this had put paid
To my pain unearthed
Your ghostly self-worth
I must now mourn without aid.
Comments