Is love but an elabourate game?

Winners, losers, grief and pain,

Love unrequited is death of the heart,

A frail weakling, lost from the start.

Love is a dagger, a shimmering blade,

Grey empty pasts, darken then fade,

A whirlpool of emotion, a siren of souls,

Venus seduces her prey to her unlit hole.

A spinning grey mass of forgotten days,

The evil of love; friendships she slays,

Her tormenting nest is in the mind,

Self-inflicted torture for all mankind.

Love has no winners, only losers delayed,

For partings cause hearts to feel betrayed,

The night and the day are lovers forever,

The same but different and never together.

Love is a death, a loss and an end,

A cruel inadequacy for God to send,

Love is a swan with a vulture's soul,

Beautiful white silk, stained by coal.

By James Womack