The Unwanted Prize ©
Dalton in Furness, England
And this time, Love, came gentle not
But ravaged through her heart with glee
Devalued all for which they’d fought
With his unveiled hypocrisy
As when the velvet gloves are shed
Love shows its talons, laser-sharp
To slash and churn, accompanied
By dis-chords picked on Angel’s harp
Each raining lash would slice and tear
And pity streamed from out her cheek
Transcending that which once lay there
With blackheart thumbs, he stemmed the leak.
Her face no more than fleeting thought
He left content, though left with naught.
Content to blindly grope, it seems
Through darkened halls, bereft of dreams.