The Trap

There he sits and mysteriously stares,
behind the weathered eyes he wears.
A lovely smile, a concealed lock,
his heart and mind as hard as rock.

So much to hide in crying shame,
he decorates his hidden game.
By lending out his furtive heart,
he’ll caress and touch, but rip apart.

To sweetly call and sing your name
is his intention when he’s sane.
On a beach of deep black night,
romance comes upon his sight.

He cries and bellows, hollers high,
beneath his glittered evil sky.
He drags pure hearts to his deep dark pit,
by using his sharp and deadly wit.

Don’t fall for him, keep far away.
What looks so clear is really grey.
Help him out, but don’t go in!
His heart is stone and his mind will win.

—Wendy Williamson

Comments are closed.