a poem by Michael Sherrillo
The heart hardens; turning slowly to stone,
worn by the constant pressure of loves loss.
To many times pricked by cupids arrows,
to many wounds left unhealed.
Infection comes slowly,
cancerously consuming my hope and joy.
I weep with pain; silent, without tears,
as the winds of time's passing echo in my hearts empty cavern.
My blood thins with loneliness;
My back sags from to many gray days.
My eyes dim from so much beauty,
seen and unshared.
I am the unloved lover,
I am the lover unloved,
I am alone.