A skillfully loosed dart
flies from my bow-strung tongue
straight through your heart.
More sure than Cupid's arrow long ago
this one strikes a vile, mortal blow.
I watch you fold and wither
like a rose assailed by winter unforetold.
Surprised, as a knave that slays
the scarlet breasted songbird of spring
yet, unmoved by the death of an innocent thing,
aloof, a fool, unwittingly a tool
in the hands of all dark, mean-spirited things,
I stand by and watch our Love die.
Where is Remorse?
Where Sadness?
Where Regret at the death
of gladness in our hearts?
Alas! Love stealthily departs!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Old friend, I want you to know how proud I am that One of Us never lost the spark of creativity that used to drive us all. I read some of your peom here contained. I am, by no means, an expert of meter, rhyme, content or theme-but I can say these poems strike me as at least as good as published stuff I've seen. If you get this message and would like to contact me, my email gets to me at the address ll_solcorp@yahoo.com