Wondering what I’ve been doing lately? Writing bad poetry, of course. I really wanted it to snow today.
You promised me wind and snow
and gave me sun.
You promised fire and passion
and gave a cold shoulder.
You promised love and future;
I have the blackest nights.
Without you,
promises are my only hope.
Disclaimer: This is not a poem as I am in no way a poet. Instead, merely find a terse philosophical observation/correlation/comparison between the words a beloved has spoken, a hastily written note, and my heart at the moment.
You write care,
misspelled or illegible,
and strikethrough.
You write hope
only to scribble it out later
with thick, black lead.
You write love,
but the eraser-thinned paper gets
crumpled and thrown away.
My heart still reads
the impression
you left.
Four poster legs and sleep
in dark and loneliness.
Sacrifice for fire,
for you and for her.
A tear stained with life
hanging low from a beam,
drips suffering slow
to the iron-soaked earth.
It devours each day
the hunger never slaked.
Renewed with the stars,
there is no hope for me.
But peace replaces my guilt
for one day it ends.
You will be with her,
and I will be free.
Blacke Cat Tales 