19 Dec 2016 – Sonnet
You called her Lolita: loose and yet lovely,
so utterly faithless, laughing, elusive.
Long years of yearning, days of discovery
showed you both your heart and hers were collusive.
Sticks there are always from whence swings the carrot:
bright, gleaming gold and you can’t live without it.
Only the heart-attack proof earn by merit
what slave-drivers trade for their bridles and bits.
Fame is a whore who sets men’s minds on fire,
dancing, half naked, in each one’s endeavors.
Life is the price you must pay for her hire.
Only a fool thinks he’ll have her forever.
You dream of life there, ensconced in her bower –
her puppet, her playing, stripped of your power?