The Bait

If I were a fish in cunning disguise, I’d be hooked by the glint of a clever device. The bait I once took still weeps in despair, Shackled in shadows, in unyielding snare. How, you may ask, did I turn into prey? Perhaps through the offerings I gave away Gifts I had known would one day destroy, Yet I cast them with hope, with a fatal joy. I dreamed of a fate all etched in the stars, But the light dimmed to ash, leaving only scars. My fingers slipped as the chain of trust fell, Loosed from its gird, to the depths where I dwell.