He’d turn away to ignore.
He’d deny its lure,
Regardless of whatever it had in store.

Even if it made him soar,
He’d continue to endure,
Life without it anymore.

For because of it he bore,
Consequences from a meaningless score.
A wealthy man rendered poor.

Living life like a chore,
With a heart unceasingly sore.

There he stood in the moor,
Spreading white petals over the floor,
Upon her grave he swore,
That he’d do it no more.

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This poem was inspired by a “Monday” daily writing prompt from the “Promptly Written” Publication.

Monday — Write a poem, piece of fiction, or an essay using the following prompt. The things we’ve lost…