Her's was a story so often told
Of hopelessly hopeful
futility.
Blinded by love she did not
foresee
That he would be gone before
Springtime was done.
Men are such animals,
Grunting and rutting,
Breaking the rules of polite
company
Until all that is left
Is the cheap pick-up line
That lingers in anguish
Long after he's gone.
No moral dilemmas,
No great philosophical edicts
Are written to which he
adheres.
No conscience to bother,
No groundswell of feeling
Comes rushing to make an
emotional plea.
Only the bodies he leaves in
his wake
To languish and drown in an
ocean of tears -
Waiting for someone to throw
her a lifeline -
As he sails the trade winds
of tropical seas.
No comments:
Post a Comment