A Phantom of Love

All alone you sit there in grip of graveyard, hosting demonic thoughts, Listening to cries of tombstones, squalling from lovers’ somber epitaphs, Recounting how you chased prospects, innocent souls you courted, Celebrating your maleficence building bonfires on the burial grounds, Where you buried them one by one, watching the dance of demons, As your stony heart laughed aloud, mocking the dead in total disregard. You lured them with synthetic smiles, faux glamor of loveless stance, Never meaning a word uttered, attired in stares of spurious glance, As you prayed on them, then discarded; in landfills of broken-hearts. Relationships initiated in springs of life, often parched in summer heat, As passionless encounters burned in flame of hideous promiscuity; Got washed away by the feisty storms churning scurrilous intensity, Propelling hurricanes lovelorn, flooding realms of lovesome prairies, When aspirations of your lust subordinated inspirations of pure love. Old and fragile, you ruminate now, in frigid winters of your miserable life, Speechless, motionless, fearful of your pitiful world swiftly passing by, Haunting your eyes, as paranormal spirits, the silhouettes of the dead, Mock your decrepit existence, shouting insanities at your grimacing face. Remorseful beneath moon and stars, you inscribe your own epitaph: She was a gloom of stygian clouds, shrouding arc of love on sunlit dawns, She was a dubious counterfeit act; she was a vile curse on romance, A cooing dove of morn she was not; a phantom of love she sure was.