A Poet's Grief

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📷 Prisma a la Vista
(Rhapsody Of Love)
You always spoke ill of me,
The ‘title’ was always about breaking up,
You spoke of it in ‘syntax’,
And that made me understand the ‘subject’.

You hissed creating strange ‘onomatopoeia’,
The ‘repetition’ of your hisses,
Created ‘a symbol’ of hatred
And you used the right ‘diction’ to hurt me.

You made me realize that hatred was the ‘subject matter’,
Your statements created ‘rhythm’ and ‘rhyme’
Around my medulla oblongata
And I didn't notice any ‘irony’.

You made me love your ‘style’
Because you were too ‘audible’,
It forced me to fetch negative ‘feelings’
And ‘mood’ because of your language.

You became ‘rhetorical’
Because you knew everything.
You made a fool of me
And took my everything.

You made me wish worse for you-
Because you always created ‘stanzas’ of tears
Down my cheeks whenever I grieved,
I always failed to service my thoughts.
Your rhythmic voice of ‘criticism’-
Always blaming me,
Made me think I am an ‘opportunist’-
At last you left me.

You made my life ‘prose’,
With a happy ending.
It is of gratitude that I am happy now,
I pray you fail to get happiness.

© Ochago George William. 
@George The Tired Poet. 
(2021) Re-edited in 2022.
Published 2023.

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