The Death of a Golden Child!
Of pristine proportions, revered and craved,
Lies here, dead and forgotten!
The creeper vines has grown from its rotten hands,
Tightly squeezing the life out of its dusty body.
And as people cross that corner street where Love’s body lies,
They turn up their noses at the stench,
Often making fun of Love’s futile death!
And joining in the cacophony of Lust’s laughter,
Who sparkles like a million glass baubles under afternoon sun,
Too bright to provide any shade,
Attracting humanity and thereafter,
Like a moth to the flame...
And, As the last man jumps into Lust’s arm,
Warmth took their last breath,
Joining Love’s body
In the forgotten corner!
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