Once upon a time ... they lived together
for a while, not ever after. Not even happily.
Guilty for your betrayal of a lover abandoned?
Your immediate action after f___ing the rich
old man at first sight did not suggest guilt.
You were proud, eager to tell the whole world,
posting on social media that you spent
your first night in Nevereverlandmerica
in the seaside castle-house
of your geriatric boyfriend ... old King Cole
not Nat petered out passion, sex by the numbers
dial 911 for heart attack Viagra-powered
stiff warnings.
The rose in a glass case wilts.
The beast's beauty fades.
Whatever guilt there was
was washed away in the shower
flowing into the drainage system
towards Puget Sound, the circle of fire.
You are forgiven for your betrayal.
The hurt remains.
If you believe forgiveness
erases pain; no, it doesn't.
Neither does it mean
vengeance is sought.
The hurt is merely harboured.
What happened to "he's a wonderful person ...
decent ... the doctor, the colonel ... I discover things
about him everyday that I like ... he gives me meaning
and direction ... things I never had with you ...
he's the man I most likely will marry ..."?
Yes, what happened to all that gold?
Did it turn out to be the fool's kind? If diamonds
are a girl's best friend (damn the dog),
did those stones turn into a lump of coal?
Maybe that's what happens when you rush into it,
going for the dough, bartering body and soul
for the prospect of wealth in a cold-blooded grab
for moolah in a calculated get-rich-quick scheme.
The universe is always watching.
Karma is real. It's the law of negative compensation.
It haunts you now, your teacher's stern gaze
and accusation: "You are immoral."
In fairy tales without happy endings, the gifted lose
their power when they get greedy.
The Endrend.
Finis penis.
