A bloom of abomination grows in the bed
of yearning that we planted long, long ago,
our relationship, once tender buds, lays dead
and my inner soul I now struggle to sow.
Sweet affection has been replaced by tart scorn,
the passion I cherish has released its last flame,
taste dried tears kept in the heart that you’ve torn
hear my weak attempt to give this loss a name.
While you bamboozle, bury a guileless truth,
I will simply mute each contemptible lie,
the deceit of an old fool reclaiming youth
loots from a rich past and a future decries.
You spread your seed in the dirt you penetrate,
then lift my clean sheets, too late, much too late.
*A modern sonnet