Regret

I present you,folks,with a musette, titled “Regret”.

Regret,
Tasting which,one
Begets

A pain
So horrible,
It rains

Naught but
Torment,your mind
Just cut,

Rent,free
Of happiness,
Joy, glee;

Your soul
Burnt,in a way
So foul;

Your heart
Devoid of warmth,
Departs;

All doomed
To suffer pain
That looms…

No end
To the plague of
Fiends.

-The Forgers of Fantasy

For more such poems,refer The Forgers of Fantasy

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