Step Aside Shakespeare

XXII

There wast nay hope. I fell ferociously

from the moment she spoke. Her kind words nursed

old wounds in mine own soul. Unknowingly,

affection did awaken for the first

time within me. Oh, what irony yond

I wouldst beest bound by affection's fine

web - her words a snare now forever donned.

I shouldst has't seen how fate's cruel designs

weaved a tragic tale unable to mend.

I shouldst has't known then her love wast hollow

by the way her tongue did taste of a blend

born from bitter blessings and sweet sorrow.

Though love's decree may sealeth mortal breath,

I'll cherish every word leading to death.