Zywa Mister Love

I used to play with dolls
imitating the affairs of the aunts
I knew their trump cards

of yearning jealousy
and revenge on the devils
who make you heavenly happy
before they leave

Now I listen to heartbreak songs
without an answer, songs I know
and could sing along, but
inside, they eat me

instead of giving me hold
how to proceed now it's over
although I was sure of him
and of myself

Oh, may Plato and Socrates be right
that Mister Love is a hunter, lean
unwashed and barefoot, but skilled
in mixing poison?

Do I deserve this while he is exculpated
because good luck does accrue to him
but it always escapes him?

Poem 1505
Amsterdam, 2017-08-09

Eros, Love, is the son of Poverty and Abundance
Collection: Freend 
Keyword: Love: heartbreak 
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