Last Goodbye

By J. Lynne Moore

I’ll dance not, upon your grave;
Though you, in life, were a knave.

Tender, your kiss, once made me shine,
Like the blossoms of the honeysuckle vine.

Then turned cold, your wicked embrace,
Leaving tears to stain my face.

I will not deny my bitter disdain;
That left my heart spent and mind insane.

But never did I wish for death to befall,
Your wretched soul, ‘twas your own downfall.

Yet, here I stand in a mourner’s gown,
As tears salt the rain cascading adown.

Is heaven or hell your newfound home?
Or does your soul hover betwixt the gloam?

A day may come whence we meet again…
‘Till that time, my life, I shall feign.

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