Bitter 2

 A FREE-VERSE POEM

In the sky on a high with the birds
And the tips of the trees when
They died not with me, but with you,

And you cried with a lie on your
Face in your laugh, in your scream,

In a dream in the night somewhere else
Like the plague of your mad, manic daze
You could rip, like a knife unto you,
Unto me in your swift escapade;
And you made someone else like a
Dwarfed paper doll, I could see in your
Eye the contempt, the bizarre dreamful
Gift or the loss of your near-magic call
To the one in my heart.

Then you died, were destroyed by the
Light. That was me.

✴✴✴

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