A mistress cruel:
False hope for the most hopeless.
Hapless many souls seek her finding not,
prattling foolish toil for her empty pull.
Mindless thralls she makes with empty promise,
feasting upon their souls.
Their very essence coalesce
in puddles feeding into her goblet;
flowing over with their blood and tears,
transmuting hopes to fears.
They meet their end not quick
beguiled and tortured by her tricks.
Her illusions mesmerize;
The strongest just surviving
writhing in their bitter tears.
Dried up convinced they wasted all their years.
Living conquerors,
but victims still the same:
Free but still they serve the dame.
-Michael Newberry