Perhaps I will be done with you
When I get home. You've been
More sow's ear than silk purse
For me for two long years.
Why should I care if you still
Love me if you fear someone
Will know? Why should I pity you
For burrowing into a dismal life?
There's someone else who's
More forthcoming, someone who
Is not the cold and distant moon.
She is radiant, a sun, and, though
I rarely get to see her, how often do
I see you, oh purse who turned back
Into ear? I'll call her purse, as she
Bears gifts, and leave you for the dogs.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 81 times
Written on 2017-10-08 at 01:15

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Ashe The PoetBay support member heart!
Complicated situations all around, but I imagine everyone entered with eyes wide open. No blame to pass around.

A tough call on both parts I reckon. Seems like the other in this is between a rick and a hard place.