(center)COME BY THE SWORD, DIE BY THE SWORD
A young god you marched across my heart
Like a conqueror returning to Rome
I was innocent believing myself to be of worth.
Pure of heart, educated, a partner to share life and raise fine children.
But --when firmly ensconced into my gentle heart--
You treated it as a brothel--delighting in cruelty--
Knowing I carried your son.
Never knew I how sweet bloodshed tasted
While your tears mourned-- too late.
V Anderson-Throop 2014