The Sceptic

There’s no fun in joining in

but what’s the point of staying out?

Every cliché in the book

has been tossed, bandied about.

Every shadow, every smile

which has flitted on her face

he’ll remember and attempt

on his heart’s parchment to trace.

She spelled wonder, enchantment, light,

the earthly pull of love divine.

But arms enchain, roots entangle,

metal corrodes on every sign.

Better safe, better far,

diminish your attention span.

She promised so much:

He ventured forth leonine man,

Came back worn to bone

Insignificant also-ran.

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