Scattered ashes of what was once a heart bleed still,
And the reality spreads through the brain like a cancer,
That she shall never be yours.
Forest fires can only aspire to this virulence.
Love is not for you, idiot, not for you,
It is a privilege the damned will never taste,
And is beyond your capacity to understand.
So flaunt your celibacy, it is all you have,
Celebrate the monk's life, a path so wise
To follow, for therein is no disappointme
No struggle to possess, no struggle to retain.
Besides, she would have left you, too, eventually.
Adding your comment:
Good poem!
