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,
ruin,
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.
James J Jackson 