Non Omnis Moriar

Beguiled indeed, is the poet’s soul,
A story untold tantamount to sin:
Another line, then another verse,
Writing walks alongside sweet addiction.
Our curse obscures rhymes scrawled perverse,
She is truth denuded to hungry eyes;
One final listener puts down my work
My voice fades to oblivion, dies
In a cruel sunset on this love affair.
He chokes her to a last desperate breath
Indifferent; those straining gasps of air
Can’t break his gaze, for he doesn’t care.
One day I’ll embrace the end of my fight,
Foolish dreams floating as my night it comes,
My song would never go unsung--
My song will never go unsung.