I just don't want...
to go mad...
to burn...
my bitter memory...
with gall...
and wash it away...
in a urine stream...
of alcohol...
I could...
oh I surely could...
but then...
to what end...
as countless poets...
have before...
that's not...
my favored door...
of self pity...
I would rather love...
than grind...
glee than growl...
all the time...
I have, away...
with some skinny bones...
in a bed...
with no amity...
let me love...
let me yearn...
let me learn...
to not rebuke...
myself...
for offering...
and offer love again...
for I was born...
to love...
and only hate...
condemns the thing...
Written by Bruce James Clyde 2015
Art: Half Length Study of A Boy, by Henry Scott Tuke 1858-1929
No comments:
Post a Comment