In an amalgamation of errs

no misdeed is abound

without writ a lackluster love

ascends to Hell above

with desires not to bestow

lest to those of Heaven below,

 

O, weeping, weeping, weeping, weeping and seeping

into a foolish heart

the everscarring transferral of woe

sends heathens off once more to Heaven below

O, sweet treachery which guides me

the inevitable and predicted abandonment

barely victors over that of mine enchantment,

 

Did you scruple in your selectment?

Am I unwise in my resentment?

Nay, for once shamed

may never be recovered

but never samed,

if never lovered!

Without the reciprocal of my ambition

true love falters to intuition

So perhaps not I have sullied my name

given being at the mercy of my bane

not quite succubus, not quite saint

herein lies the tale all to taint

of someone so unwise

as not to epiphasize

of a tragic lesson in disguise.

 

Like an exercised muscle, the connection breaks

yet, in time, only that which is stronger takes its place.