PAIN

by LaRue Watts

The aching knee, the throbbing joint,
The ankle, wrist; I get the point.
Reminders of my misspent youth?
Perhaps, perhaps, and yet, in truth,
These daily hurts do not compete
With what I felt when life was sweet.
When first love had me in its throws.
The world was mine but, heaven knows,
The good things often don't remain
And broken-hearted, I met pain.
I lost a love.  Alas!  Alack!
Now that old nemesis is back
With nothing left for me to gain.
No love, no more.  No, only pain.