Forsaken
Love, you wicked tempest, misfortune shapes
You like novice hands on a potter’s wheel.
Though soft and malleable, you pierce men’s hearts
Like hardened steel then melt away like ice.
Spinning violently uncontrollable,
You are molded only as fancy fares,
Skewing the reality of strong men
And finally blinding the most able.
Alone, forsaken by fate and by man,
You are lost to your ambiguity.
You are empty, cold, and complacent and
You plague all of man with your villainy.
O’ if only to escape your torment
How lovely spring’s pleasures may be endless!
C. William Carroll