PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Now you look to me like a pure
rushing fountain
Adorned only by your own
sweet splashes

In your gentle mood
You claim you do not hate me
You, whom I have suspected of
     collusion in the crimes
     against my childhood;
     thefts by the owners of the
     sunshine (guarded always
     against the storm by
     the warmest sweaters)

I, so bewildered by the storm,
     standing on the ground becoming
     mud, making a friend of the
     cold wind and kisses of the wet
Unable, as they say, to come in
out of the rain.

When you smiled your smile of
     festivals and good news
I felt bereft
And when you frowned
I felt that we were equalized
But when I saw your hurt
I wanted to turn down the
Volume of your pain

And after all this

who are you?

and are you still my enemy?

I am told by reliable sources
that you are kind

Neither of us have the woman we both clung to
But she will never know the
     strength that saw you through

Though I  cannot be sorry 
     that my winter spread to you
     that my heart's needs made you bleed

And I am glad you are putting out new buds

Now you look to me like a pure
rushing fountain
Adorned only by your own
sweet splashes.