She's not well at the moment, and neither is he
But they have each other – the arms of lovers
That comfort themselves without need for another.
In this sorry picture there is no place for me.
She will probably get better, but he might not.
And though I never really cared for him at all
(I'd held back, for loving a friend's girl tends to apall),
It would be a grave shame for him to lose his shot.
His shot at a life, his shot at what we call "Love",
The things that I desire, but haven't yet achieved
And probably wouldn't if she were left bereaved.
But it's his treatment I can't be advocate of.
His treatment of her, the object of my passion.
The neglect and manipulation he inflicts,
The double standard and his attempts to restrict
Her in some archaic and unmanly fashion.
Though I don't wish him death, I do wish they'd part,
So that she could be happy and content at last
And condemn his sickness as a thing of the past.
Then maybe I'd take my selfish shot at her heart.
YOU ARE READING
An Ongoing Anthology of Poetry
PoesieThis is a collection of the poetry that I have written and been writing since around about October 2018. Naturally, not every poem has been of a decent enough standard to be included here, but the ones that have been included are the ones that I lik...
