I wonder what you would do
if I told you
your dreams are useless, doomed to failure
your love is unrequited, a false trap, a lure
your happiness is false, transient like bubbles
your mornings full of sunshine, trouble
will turn to evenings full of longing
unfulfilled, unhappy, tragic, wronging
like the setting sun, miserable in muddy brown
your age, so invincible (now), will let you down
your mind will betray you, have you talking blabber
the ghosts of your loneliness will soon gather,
celebrate your funeral within
years before your innards decay, soaked in sin.
Would you crumble into a pile
fall, look at me with glazed eyes
or would you fight (for) me, punch me down
kiss me goodnight, with hope in your mouth?
For I’m Portia, my love
and all the caskets have death written unto them –
but the bronze one has hope, perhaps a new dawn
and so we live on
and so we live on.