Comments about Troy Younts
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 Regret at the death
of gladness in ...