I know you would not love me until death,
Though here, and still, I know I would love you.
You did betray me in sweet solemn breath—
That faithful whisper there of “Yes, I do.”
For me it was commitment, free of strings,
Save those that bind one soul unto another;
And now I feel it was for other things—
Perhaps more as a sister to a brother.
Or worse, perhaps, it proved transactional,
My monied truth hid in a purse of lies;
And you used sterling promise to fulfill
A prayer that sought a god in different skies.
How strange seems love when doubt stands in its stead,
And once proud beating hearts lie cold and dead.

© Loubert S Suddaby.  All Rights Reserved.