The harder the fall
The grander the rise

Perhaps this is the least poetic thing I’ve ever uttered.
Sometimes love isn’t enough to make it through.

She was always victorious,
For she studied the art of seduction,
Because it requires more cunning,
Than the art of war.
Learn to ******.
Win every war.

The most dangerous opponent
Is a quiet one

Of course it was painful letting go,
But holding on, would’ve been a death sentence.

He wove himself a net of victimhood.
Promptly wrapped himself in his spindly web,
Screaming “Someone else threw this net on me!”

He used to bring her flowers
When her youth was in full bloom
She was ravished with fragrant colors
In her dewy faced afternoon
He used to bring her flowers
But as rose-petal girlhood began to atrophy
The flowers stopped arriving
The flowers vanished and so did he