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By Blue Angel Date: 2001 Aug 14 Comment on this Work [[2001.08.14.13.31.22362]] |
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He opened the door, escorted me out, and took my pen to boot. The impact he had on my life, Oh! of which I now can't write, Perhaps I'll learn to chisel (carving it on his heart.) I'm hanging up my hat, putting out the cat, slinging the whites on the line to dry, (or some such thing they say) that indicates the finality, the ending, the dashing, of hopes meant to be. What bothers me most(are my ears deceptive?) are words base and vile, utterly destructive. How can love so fiery and hot be cooked down, reduced to limp, sardonic syllables (no shadow of their former selves.) Sans my pen, sans my heart, sans my man... Sands now merely running through the glass, marking time not rightfully spent. Just rocking to and fro, getting pennies from a life that was worth several dollars. |