Jonathan ROBIN (22 September / London)
The biggest mistake of my life was believing
all women were born upon pedestal high,
incapable of any doubtful deceiving,
of conduct distateful or double-faced lie.
From cradle to grave my ambition's achieving
a bridge between fiction, fact, keeping intact
this credo - I need so much patience relieving
stress caused meeting flaws, credibility lacked.
Wishful thinking forever is [s]tressing and weaving
excuse for Miss Tress who continually swerves
from the narrow and straight, Cupid's arrow retrieving
from deception's grey ashes, it gets on one's nerves.
Rhyme from time to time catches truth's glimmer, conceiving
idyllic ideal may be met upon Earth,
but pride before fall all turns out to be, grieving
love's mirage seems out of reach, bone bleaching mirth.
There's little to add when with insight perceiving
illusions all empty, dreams void, hopes neurotic,
naive aspirations are shattered, love leaving:
should one turn for true comfort to android robotic?
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