The Battle, The Ballad, and The Girl : Part III

He did break his strength

and he did get to know this woman

of heartbreak and sin.

He fulfilled his debt by fulfilling her lust

but no thoughts of this witch lived inside his head.

Only the beauty of the one he lost lived on.

He slept with this woman,

in scorn

in hatred

and in vein.

He was living a life not his own,

If the cruel man had left his true love be

none of this regret,


or sin would dwell.

How our hero did pine for her.

How he spits and dances on the grave of the cruel man.

Only regretting that his deed only retributes,

it did not return his love.

Death does not bring the other dead back to life.

Escaping her thoughts in the wicked lust of the other,

and in the narcotic stupor of his

increasing drunks.

With each bender and binge

his mortality hands and drifts

and his only release are his lustful returns

which always spurn regret.

Never leaving the witches home,

at her passive beacon

and nymphotic call,

he festered his days on the run

in one place,

in one hand.

But all his regret came all to not,

for the Marks of the law 

did put them both in their hands.

His lustful regret fucked her way out of trouble,

and our hero was now at the bay of the pigs.

Still his only regret

was the Witch.

Published by James J Jackson

I'm a poet from California.

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