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The Death of Romance

A lonely man ventures out into the night,
Seeking mystery and intrigue,
Knowing that he will be disappointed,
Aware that he will find neither,
Still he strikes out in spite of this,
Being nothing of a clairvoyant,
He knows not what the future holds,
Trying to remain optimistic,
Hoping that fate will deal him some good fortune,
Something to make his existence worthwhile,
To make the struggle worth it,
Life is so fraught with pain for him,
A romantic with no one to love,
None to share his life with,
A prospect that drains his soul,
Slowly emptying his will to live,
Till he has nothing left to give,
An empty shell of himself,
One would think that this would not be the way,
That he would never be alone,
So kind and gentle,
Giving his love to those who would have it,
One would surmise that women would love him,
Yet this is not the case,
They see all that he does and gives,
And take it for themselves,
Leaving him destroyed and alone,
Is this the way it is to be then?
Going from relationship to relationship,
To be used and walked upon,
Finally discarded like so much garbage,
When his usefulness is at an end,
Is there no true love left?
No purpose for his ways and means,
Is all life so devoid of romance?
Is he out of place?
A remnant from a time long past,
This cannot be so,
It must not be so,
Somewhere in this rotting sphere,
Somewhere in the decay of humanity,
Must be someone for him,
To ease his pain and fill the void,
Complete him and accept his love,
Return it as strongly as he gives it,
Ever onward he wanders through the night,
Always looking and dreaming of the one,
That will show him wonders,
Never before dreamed of in this dreary state,
Proving to him without shadow of doubt,
That the death of romance is just a myth.

October 1999

Copyright October 1999