Heathen's Admission

You are God's weapon, sent to torture and confuse.
I am God's plaything, kept alive just to amuse.
Still I curse the day we met, but I cannot break away,
God's set out to punish me in a cruel and heartless way.

He made me fall in love with you, and love I do, still,
he sapped at my emotions and stabbed at my heart and will.
Blinded to the truth, he put a veil over my wisdom.
Didn't let me know that what I loved was just my prison.

God is cruel and heartless, yes he's subtle and he's cunning,
I didn't see the trap he set till it's too late to start running.
Behind your smile and lilting laugh, your eyes, those gorgeous eyes,
lay all the sweetness man could covet, there without disguise.

So this poem is my sorry, is my acknowlegement of fate,
even though it's heartfelt, still I know it comes too late.
Caught between delicious irony and bitter love for one,
and I can hear God laughing as I applaud his work well done.

Save me someone! Spare me, God. Help me anyone who's near,
all my thoughts run round in circles, all i've left is hidden fear.
If she wont be mine then take her from me, I say you're awful play is done.
I admit defeat, give in, submit, why torture me now that you have won.

Nicholas Bronson

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