The Apothecary

Today, I won't play the victim card,
Yet, I must unburden my mind.
Romance has delivered a kick to my face,
Thus, i must recount my woes.

At Genesis, a crooked fellow I was,
fashioned like the man made sickle.
Gallivanting, metamorphosing, gaily,
scorning heart matters! What a defect.

Then, she rode in, like a knight, angel-like,
offspring of the great blacksmith, she claimed.
Of an endless supply of fuel and strength,
ready to forge a better path for my ways.

The abnegation started at snail pace,
like the turtle velocity over Zuma.
Inwardly, the shift occurs, but admittance is nay!
A hard image I wore, yet I broke.

But the apothecary will have it no more,
A thousand excuse about rusty steel.
Alas! a twist with bitter aftertaste,
My old rhythm or new tunes, I ponder!