Cupid’s Opposite By Cynthia Ocloo

His black eyes were filled with despair

But to the bitterness of his sword, it did not compare.

His soul was deprived of rest

His voice was lost lest it be heard.

His hands were iron, holding onto his weapon

But he waits, for his darkness to beckon.


His eyes were void of sleep

As his life slowly depletes.

And the one he waited for

Was too filled with zest

To help keep him from distress.


He contained no love

But his opposite had enough

His presence was like a vacuum

But his opposite was like an heirloom.

He was like a black hole

Ready to capture what was old.


He is cupid’s opposite.

The one who waited  like a puppet,

Never to have seen the light

Never to be filled with delight


He is cupid’s opposite,

The one who holds his bitter sword

The one you blame

He was cupid’s friend, but never again.

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