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CURSED SELF





I, tedious I do strive and strut to vie

Midst the autumn of my years, against

A most fitful foe that plagues an aging

Conscience so.  Be it that forgiveness

Could be bought or sold, I would sell

All of what I own to ransom back my

Forfeited love for the. Feigh was I when

I took release of your hand since my

Slower destiny plodded behind and I

Drew neigh upon good fortune.  Forever

Will I beat my breast until old age takes

Me to rest for such a weak moment when

My brow, swelling with the angst of

Forlorn love did make the most horrid of

Decisions to relinquish thee from my life.

Cursed self am I for I did fail to vie

To take you as my wife and brave poverty.

Alas, I could not endure the sweetness of your

Lips and give nothing but grinding poverty in

Return. O cursed self! I had to let thee go.





*Written for Lynn Taylor of Como, N.C.