Dead Love

As I look back at those fun days of school

I remember how everything appeared so refreshingly cool

I thought back then that love was costly and never for sale

And my life would be no less than a Cinderella’s tale.

Little did I realize then that my fate was tied

To all those stories, where all the lovely women died

Of love. They smiled like me even in their pain,

Now I know that love cannot happen again.

The lonely Lady of Shalott had only once left her tower

To see the courageous Sir Lancelot near the river.

And on her fell the brunt of a curse so grave

She escaped her lonely existence and came out so brave.

Floating down the river smooth, she sang

Of her only boon. She died near that very river bank

And only the Knight in the shining armor praised out lot

For the lovely corpse of the beautiful Lady of Shalott.

Her hair was damp, on her last cold rainy night.

She had come out in the darkness, to fulfill her only delight.

Her trust, her faith lay all in his bare arms

But he strangled her thrice and kept her warm.

Her perfectly pure and good self did he try to preserve

And he felt perfect when he realized what he truly deserved.

It was no guilt, but guilt was all he might have tamed

Even then Porphyria’s Lover never got himself a name.

I too wanted to have a story so intense and yet so pure

Even if it might end in death, but not too tough to endure.

Today the passion is spent, and now I wish it was not.

I hope someday to find a place from where some love can be bought.

But now the heart is broken and I am looking for my last sleep

I know that I only got what my deeds have truly reaped.

I look forward to see myself in the morning light

As each day goes by and I too am bound to die.