Life Without Love Is A Hermit's Charade
M
Mark Heathcote
0
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There are hearts in a charade
That can-never-be lit
Whose shining patina is constantly-on-the-blip?
With bricks, trowel and a spade
They'd build a concrete wall.
Never-allowing their inner selves to glow or pall.
They'll live alone and can't be-dissuade
It's a hermit's life for them again.
Until, their final amen!
Their fatigue is to be, buffeted
And unloved, but I'll say it again
Their hearts are living in a cold charade.
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