The Test…must I endure these games?
Test me, string me along
on this dark deceitful travail,
know my limits by all means
and push till push turns shove,
and then, I in love no more,
will detest your beauteous shape,
your bottomless eyes
hollow of all good will.
Yes, test me till the sun is snuffed,
till time’s wheels, no longer greased, seize,
and I a wretched love lost fool,
tested till I no longer view the truth,
lost to your lies, as I despise
your self-centred intentions,
your ardent expectations
of a lover.
Must I endure your games,
your list of must have attributes,
for what good are ticks,
when life itself refutes this bliss
you seek to find;
and why am I the judgement of your lies,
when I have no list at all,
and just let love be, to play its course.
I am done with tests, with brutal manifests,
and love’s flame just snuffed out
from your very exhalation,
cannot find a descent line of reconciliation,
just an acrid smell of something rotting,
a dark and malevolent shocking
that makes me want to run, and so goodbye,
you may remove your white coat,
and place your pen upon the table.
Tony DeLorger © 2016