Friday, 11 November 2016

Eleven Eleven Eleven

Is This Love

Is this love that courts disaster
Spouts its woes and grievance shares
And in deceit claims be master
Over foulest vice and cares.

Is this poison that spills its gasping
Pouts its anger and feeds on glares
And in consumption fills its asking
Matching blows with artful flares.

Is this wisdom that speeds faster
Shouts its pain and sorrow wears
Lies and hits on poorer bastards
Salting sores that it still bears.

It is reason that shines past masking
Flaunts its gauntlet and risks its fares
And in its colours muted asking
Turns triumphant as its dares.

Copyright WildeHeads

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