If hearts are merely metronomes in rhyme,
smooth ventricles in perfect harmony,
why did mine stumble, erase ticks of time
with every duet's beat I sang with thee?

If minds are moved by puppet master hands
controlling mundane mortal marionettes,
why does mine carry on this phantom dance
with broken strings of circular regrets?
 

If souls are solely remnants of a past,
assembled trails of chosen memories,
why is mine like a whirlpool clogged with sand
that spirals to hell-bound eternity?

Why do the three conspire to love you still?
O! How they mock the strength of human will!

© 2023 Linda Rittenhouse
1st Place ASPS Traditional Rhyme
First published in Sandcutters.