The Fly

 Your luck my dear is nought but lies,

For your flea, a close relative of flies,

They do but dream of being free,

I am tied to no one, not even thee,

Love is a fierce feeling we share,

Yet to go further would leave my heart bare,

Tiny legs flies have to flee their fears,

My voice is my power against you dear,

But still it falls upon deaf ears.

You’re met by such hating chagrin,

To take my soul, I consider it sin,

From animals fleas all but feed,

It angers the beast, fuelling hungry need,

To scratch the itch by biting back,

Such empathy is a thing that you lack,

The flea is just your poor disguise,

To hide your tears, the dark drapes lonely eyes,

Forever love I dry your cries.

Lust is the weakness of mankind,

It owns your heart and clouds your blessed mind.

Baring its teeth our blood it drinks,

Our souls entwined are a beauteous mix,

With you to the end, I pray,

Forever, my love, together to stay,

We’ll tie our love on heavens sand,

Our spirits will walk hand in perfect hand,

We’ll dance in peace above the land.

(This poem is my own creative response to John Donne’s: The Flea, no copyright infringement intended.)

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