Dash Black


From What Wells?


From what wells have I drunk these cursed potions
That I should stumble all the way to my Maker
Bruised, tussled and broken
From which spring did these enchanted waters flow
That they should see me to my fatal fall
Oh shameful, filthy and greedy hearts
Must I have taken a sip of you?
Where are you now greedy art?

Submitted: Monday, April 07, 2014
Edited: Tuesday, April 08, 2014

Topic of this poem: love hurts


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