By Bud Koenemund
The ardor of my affection was pure
And true, but died slowly; pining away
In vain; enraptured by one insecure.
Now, time has granted freedom from thy sway;
Oaths once clad in shining armor rusted
Unseen, weakened by the rain of deceit
Drizzling off a tongue this fool trusted –
Cursing my heart to live on incomplete.
In faith, I know not if I stand victim
Or hypocrite – though I admit unwise –
For through the years I swore a love undimmed,
While neglect changed my promises to lies.
Piety I thought
immortal is dead,
mind and sense tragically unwed.