Monday, January 23, 2017

Destitute



Take me captive to you,
imprison me in darkness,
drag me from my home,
burn all I love,
until I am destitute.
Make my heart contrite,
batter my flesh, break me like glass.

The women of the prison
line up for breakfast.
Now regret is a toxic poison,
bitterness is a cup, difficult to drink—
resentment at hardship
is even worse;
but I am harder on myself than you.

Desire,
can you see me growing old
before your eyes;
did I know that those were cold lies
that I would gain everything.

No comments:

Post a Comment