You must hate your life
Rilke said--and it's true,
I do.
I would pull myself up by my roots
if I had to
and I have no one but me to be
bad to.
Sometimes.
The fury I feel
is fear:
a fire trying to make a light
to ward off the dark,
but any random spark
can set ablaze all I hold dear.
I see my black dog and pet him
even knowing he bites.
Both for love, and spite.
2 comments:
Of late, it's as if I am watching all I hold dear ablaze.
All I've loved, out of spite ...
I am a stranger and this might make it through. Love blog, new to the poetry. But is true and good and haunts me. Thanks. Will follow.
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