Cruel Love - Poem

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I watch her through my month old eyes,

She’s weak, tired and aged,

She lays there in a pretty guise,

Suffering from every war she’s waged.

My wife she is, or was

Depending on how you see,

Painfully, she will now pause,

For her time is opposite to me.

I have now grew older,

Ripe age of sixteen I am,

She may not know it, but when I hold her,

I feel as prestigious as an iamb.

Now she’s in her early forties,

I get older as she grows younger,

I want time, yes, more please?

I can’t quite quench this hunger.

We both cross at thirty,

This is when we meet,

She starts off stupidly flirty,

She’s a trophy that cannot be beat.

I ask her, and she obliges,

We get married within a week,

I’m used to surprises,

But love is of what she will speak.

Time is a wicked thing,

Since now I’m sending her to school,

I wish I was her age again; we could have a fling,

Why is life so cruel?

I know the end is near,

Maybe just a few years,

Our journey is like a DNA strand I fear,

Running parallel and opposite to hers.

Now we’re at the end,

Or beginning depending on the view,

This quest we couldn’t bend,

Our love was seen by few.

We didn’t deserve this, oh holy, did we sin?

But finally I realise, this we cannot elude,

I see my wife’s life begin,

As my own is about to conclude.

>G