By J.L. Moore
Dastardly deeds this day were done,
at the closing of the barrowed sun.
A heart so mired in hatred's love,
has silenced its only passion's love.
Glory cries and conviction fades
as joy takes its final breath.
Sadness floods the empty soul
upon his beloved's death.
His rage has supped on a jealous feast,
spawning the birth of suspicion's beast.
Spite's keen whisper has won its prize,
for evil dawns a contemptuous guise.
It is said that envy and pride proceed,
an everlasting fall.
For love is quelled when the heart heeds,
sweet deception's call.