The Phantom

All too jaded, as I walked in, right through the door,
Not aware of, where I had spent, the night before,
The smell of wine, the signs of passion, a lucid lore,
That I had found, a pleasure house, just out of bore,
Had discovered, fruition berth, and had gone for more,
Lamentation covered my face, with a mien of deplore,
That I had spent, amour-propre, at house of galore,
That I had turned, my calenture, to esprit de corps,
And I had left my affections, at the halls of ardor,
And now again, like an injured whale, drifted ashore,
Seeking reprieve, needing mercy, my egregious yore,
May have done this, too many times, not kept a score.

And there she was, in a repose, perched on the floor,
She had waited, throughout the night, swaying back ‘n fore,
Abandoned trust, forgotten pride, with a shattered core,
Looked at my face, with piercing eyes, none like before,

As I slumbered, into her arms, with repentant implore,
She was wiping, the blots of red, off wrinkled shirt I wore,
As if nursing, the wounds of guilt, of her injured toreador,
Then I noticed, a lurking daze, that I couldn’t ignore,
Her hands were cold, her look frozen, as if hiding her gore,
Now this angel, seemed she was carved, but of iron ore,
Then she unwrapped, her chilling fist, with her fingers sore,
Her wedding ring, rolled off her hand, and took off a soar,

My memory, of that day is, her shadow through the door,
And the question, 'Am I Living ?', I have no answer for.

~Sharky~

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