The Collector

You left before the twilight turned to night. For there a heart was torn and meant to die, In dark, before the coming dawn's new light. I sit alone and ask the question, why? The love I shared was from the purist gem. I gave to wanting hands of yours to hold. Never knowing my gift would be condemned, And left in darkness that is very cold. You cried outloud for taking love you used, and swore you'll always be someone to trust. To know my love was something to amuse, To take your power for desire unjust. I left your body silent on the hill, Buried upon another, my hands did kill contest Poem With a Chilling Twist