Mercy Killing

No Love Lost


Strike the final blow, old thing
I’m laying down my swords
I can’t match, nor outdo your game
The prize already yours

In what world or circumstance
Could e’er the truth define
That such an exquisite masterpiece
Might be determined ‘mine’

Nay, dispel; dispatch already
Pour smite upon my head
Cleave it from my emptied thoughts
And heart, and world, and bed

Though smitten, turn my depthless eyes
Away – no more to see
That which I knew before the start
‘Not mine’ and ne’er would be

So let that death-blow topple me
We danced but sure, you won
Removal next – so delicately
It might’ve already begun.