Wrath of Happenstance
By those who once loved me, I am called a crook,
Ran back home and the doors were locked,
In search of their benevolence, I looked, I look.
Informed my dearest love of my return,
The loathing in her words, all I could discern,
They say love and flowers bloom when cherished,
I watered every day, yet not a sliver of concern.
Such lies the cruel circumstance,
Thusly charged is the scroll,
Whether by destiny or by happenstance,
I face the wrath of the heavens alone.
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