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Ylzm May 2019
like the blind content just not to fall
the faithless constantly confessing sins

paying lip service to morality
ever ready to shoot the enemy, or anyone

desirous of faith's mountain moving prowess
never really believing literally

faithlessness betrayed by gun always on hand
shooting into hurricanes when prayers failed
My love can only be true,
he said, as he parted my lips with tenderness.
The laurels, they can lie too.

The sunlight rained down from skies awash with dew,
As my world rejoiced, sure nothing was amiss,
For the words from his lips could only ring true.

My darling, my sweetheart, I want to marry you,
He whispered, flooding my heart with profound happiness.
The laurels, they can lie too.

The messenger dove came too late, loaded with sadness and rue,
The festivities had commenced, the lovely couple a-bliss.
For the words from his lips could only ring true.

My dress snow-white, his eyes ocean-blue,
My broken heart rose-red, riven apart with sweetness.
The laurels, they can lie too.

As Hera’s lover had been untrue, so had you,*
I said, poisoning his mouth with one swift kiss.
For the words from his lips could only ring true,
The laurels, they can lie too.
Just another villanelle.
JP Goss May 2014
Two frowns wait for the other to speak:
One long and melancholy,
The other expectant, so fraught and weak.
The boy looks to his dog as though to his lover:
“I wish I could give you everything you wanted;
Life only interferes.”
His mate saunters on, lays low
So he fears, in resignation,
“What is it that keeps your devotion so clear?”
She, silent, in anticipation
“I do not know,” he responded. “But it is not here.”
So the blank canvas continued to be:
His mate continued sniffling unknowingly.

— The End —