My shooting star ran out of ammunition

as all my wishes died there in the dirt,

the wind blew out my candles, no more wishing,

I'd have to face the future, take the hurt.

I'd always thought my suit of armor iron

impregnable to lances from afar,

but tournaments can leave a jester crying,

the White Knight falls - just like a dying star.

The six-gun kid was lightning-fast and younger,

his aim was like an eagle on the wing,

I needed lead, but never had the hunger,

denied the cruelty needed to be King.

Capitulation always made me nervous,

and wounds of innuendo look so glum,

the Princess orders servants now to leave us

and doesn't see her father drop his thumb.

Goodbye, cruel world - a cliché and a blessing,

I search the avid crowd and find no friends,

the broad blade falls, I learn my final lesson,

and by the sword - like life - my story ends.

More of my LOVE POEMS