So now you do return from god knows where—
Transcendent love, your myth, your cold hereafter;
To jilted me—love scorned and unaware—
Left nurse and nanny to your latest bastard.
Your eyes arrest me: shock and sad dismay;
What selfish purpose merits this return?
Have you but come to pick our scabs again,
To stoke deserted fires that in him burn?
What cruel love do you purport to feel?
You love not me, nor yet your selfsame child;
What twisted pleasures do your sins reveal—
What wicked webs you weave to fools beguile.
Leave now, and never darken this stout door—
And may you ever be the devil’s whore.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.