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Trophy
July 4, 2014
In love,
I am a trophy,
It seems.
Put on a pedastle,
Shiny and new,
For all to see,
and eye with a fierce hunger.
Once won,
put away,
and never to be cherished again.
Put in front,
for all to see,
But rarely to be touched.
A bragging right,
Given to one,
who managed to capture me.
Later to be locked up,
Or sold perhaps,
To another who might cherish me
For a while,
and allows the cycle to continue.
For it seems,
I am a trophy, nothing more,
In the case of love.
© Maria J., Springfield, IL
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