Beware the Widower
Beware the widower, the woe is me, That sorrow-laced story, the “come Google me.” Grief as a cloak to conceal designs, While truth stands trembling on fragile lines.
Hours confined to a work phone’s chain, Affection withheld, replaced by feigned pain. Nights of absence, a father’s role claimed, Yet empathy vanished, the children blamed.
Stealthy illusions of heartbreak contrived, Tender hearts targeted, compassion deprived. A fleeting hush in a tangled dance, Where words weigh empty in longing’s trance.
Reason awakened, no echo remains, A shift in power dissolving stale chains. No thirst for riddles or restless calls, A fortress of self stands behind these walls.
Beware the widower, a caution runs deep, Shovels at the ready for promises cheap. A spark of defiance lights every nerve— No more illusions: respect to preserve.