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Surfing a mind obstructed with Cupid's arrow
was like bleeding a river that flowed upwards,
towards an angry volcano having nightmares.
A volatile internal rumble craving relief,
only in eruption.
Such was his fury with the thought
of her very existence.

Just as braving the flow of molten rock
was like telling the Tide to stay high,
so was he, Cupid's bow, on the run
trampling on a pool of teardrops
while craving an ocean to drown.

A rage surpassing the passion of hate
permeating that realm of throbbing pain
caused by a guilt scourging his very being.
As Cupid's poison in a delirious mind
denoted,  the only cure was the total
deletion of the betrayed.

To her, hate or any emotion
was better than none.
He could do no wrong,
for it was Cupid with his poisoned arrow
who shot her handsome dove.

Their love was borne out of
the belly of the earth, delivered
by the demons of the underworld.
She had tasted its fury and was
scorched by its flames.
Such, could not be touched
by a misguided arrow.

Betrayal was his but a mighty
weapon she had.
Forgiveness might be divine
but her love was patient.
He would be delivered from
Cupid's poison only,
by the very knowledge of
her perpetual existence.

T M Ioane.

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