Classic Poem

Were married in his heart
They slept together and made
Impossible children
Good-natured bastards, villainous saints
And with a kiss and a smile
He'd slip a knife in your back
Tending to your wounds
With a smirk in his eye
And though you loved him like a brother
You had to let him go
The thin rope slipping from your fingers
The quicksand of his nature
Swallowing the last hope
Of something more.


(Previously published in Art Villa, Aug.1999)