Measured Metaphor Poem by Amera Andersen

The house was built with the mortar of verse,
stories were raised on foundations of rhyme,
on strength of structure we'd fondly converse,
we'd hammer the nails to meter in time.

Timbers were rotten beneath a façade,
our blueprints discarded favoring hers.
'Twas said she was perfect, a pure demigod;
the nature of true intention occurs.

I put my whole heart into building this place,
my efforts were lost as all comes undone.
Dark were the words that caused my disgrace,
hiding my tears of humiliation.

I've lost house and home, betrayed by a friend,
the metaphor's rubble, this sonnet's at end.