Wednesday, June 30, 2010


Not that to you it'd matter,
here I am bowed, bent fevered from your batter
at your feet see how my world shatter,
like rose petals on a windy street scatter,
what's left of my weary heart needing a garter,
the lifeless remnants of an ever deepening crater,
yet still you feed me words of bare flatter,
all my love served on gold and silver platter,
and the passion I breathe you take as if for barter,
quell with a hold no more dear than mere charter,
cast offs from all that is cheer and brighter,
bow I will to your whims like a waiter,
and heed some to the otiose chatter
but succumb to the belligerent ira of a hater
not mine to espouse for I cling to far greater...

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