Love, the Little God

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

When love, that little god, is worshiped, he

(Or she, not they) hits back with arrows tipped

With gold or lead.  The gold tips set you free

To love the one you want.  That mouth, love-lipped,

Will want to kiss you back or so the myth

Implies.  The trouble, though, is that the lead

Tips cause that one you want to shun you with

A poison lead rejection.  Shake of head

Or worse will torture you.  The god will make

The future of your heart his plaything.  You

Will not receive a choice.  The tip will shake

Your chest.  The jazz will come, but maybe blue.

  Be careful what you pray for from this god.

    His treatment might be like a firing squad.

. . .

~ Phillip Whidden