The Lover
As I lay up treasures in the summer of my youth.
Counting coup on censure, random acts uncouth.
Defenseless maidens hover,
searching for the lover
they find not in me, neither compassion nor truth.
Forbid me not to boast my many conquests done.
The bragging rights mount as I subdue one by one.
In lonely solitude they weep.
Dreams fade, they cannot sleep,
wasting their gift on a fly by night just out for fun.
While I make no promises which I can not fulfill.
They expect to interject a language of love at will.
A mental walk to the alter,
then afterwards they falter.
When any hopes for further cohabitation I kill.
Copyright © Charles Henderson | Year Posted 2010
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