Beautiful flowers
Red, my favorite
Daisy petals too tempting
Not to pluck
A fortune to tell,
A future to ponder
Each crimson blade
Aimed at my soul
Cupid’s true arrow
Or love’s cruel dagger
One by one, bringing
Hope or despair
Joy or misery
Ecstasy or pain
The outcome a mystery
Once begun
Cannot be interrupted
Once decided
Cannot be undone
The arrows cannot be returned
To Cupid’s quiver
The daggers cannot be withdrawn
From my heart
They cannot be recounted
What is done, is done
The fates have chosen
This won’t be pretty
He loves me not
Heartless bastage!
Thin spiral notebook 
Oh, Tara. “They” do say we should write what we know. I always feel, no matter your subject, that you KNOW whereof you speak. Sigh. Beautiful in its hurtfulness.
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Ok, I give, what is a “bastage”? (Of course I’ll probably have looked it up by the time you answer this.)
😉
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It’s just my ‘kinder, gentler’ way of saying ‘Bastard.’
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Very intense and perfectly matched to the picture.
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Your picture is perfect with your poem!
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