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She was the nadir of affection
like a scorned lover, hell-bent on revenge.
She was still like a fresh flower, a sight for sore eyes.
David was told she was once jilted
by the beau of the town,
now hell-bent to wreak havoc on men
who unknowingly felt her black spider's charm.
 
He was not known to her; he was not introduced.
So, it was easy to ignore her, despite the warnings
of his soul.  For did not his heartbeat faster?
And adrenal flow in quantities above the norm?
Yet he remained aloof, played hard to get,
knowing that was the way to beat her down.
 
He had no magic or dreams to weave,
no moon dust, mystic herbs or love potions,
only his determination and wily will.
For they were as alike as two mountain peaks
covered with hard white snow and tricky paths,
dangerous slopes and precipitating avalanches.
 
Perhaps the predator savoured more the chase.
She began to notice, and David was yearning more.
Until the day arrived when they looked into
each other's eyes and knew the outcome of the game.
Gone was the last speck of hope, 
the shred of possibility, the promise of a new love
loomed like a giant glacier and the dice were cast.
 
The deadly demons in them were loose.
Idyllic days passed sensuously by a farce of fervour.
He had to save himself for her clutches could hurt,
claws that could cut deep within the soul.
So, like the knave he was, he slinked away
left her to her own devices and saved his pride.
She was not easy to forget, he dreamt of her often,
nor was it easy to forgive himself, especially when
he heard the news that she had killed herself.


23 September 2022
ONE FROM THE DARK SIDE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John lawless

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