Yet Undreamed… a dark poem




He ambiguously confessed his love.

She expressed hers without ambiguity.

Seducing, she’s not from above?

Tormented, was this his fortuity?

Conquered was he, now victim of,

Her ensnarement of warped promiscuity.


In this, there can be no valor!

In this, oh you of wicked heart.

Prying eyes see all in this matter.

Practiced are you with the dart.

Supple the wrist, ever the tracker,

Precision of aim, never athwart.


Too late, for the anvil did fall,

As with edges sharpened by fiend.

You’re the monster who lives in us all.

For in this your degree is esteemed.

Alas, final breath do we call.

This is nightmare for that yet undreamed!

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