Friday, September 10, 2010



There the limbs are spread to welcome in the light
But I'll not spread my arms for you, or wait
A single extra second for your face
To turn and look for one lost lingering trace
Of love on mine. Instead you'll find there hate
And loathing for a heart so cold and tight
And hard it never once would let me in;
But let my virtue languish into sin
Where courage, faith, forgiveness and their kin
Were locked inside the box beside my bed
To keep as souvenirs until I'm dead
And all the trees with light on them turn red.
You can keep your love, if you call it that,
This endless treading on my welcome mat.

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