Words To Be Unread

 

You do not want

Even sweet words

Of my poetry

But they spill like ink

Onto the pages.

 

They might well be meant

For a blind man.

You resent their existence

And flee their light

So desperate is your need

To forget me.

 

Your turned back and silence

Compels my soul to search

Dark recesses for the words

You camouflage

And refuse to speak.

 

Perhaps my pen

Will drop them

One by one by one

Onto my pages

And then I will know

Why you left me.

 

 

B. Benjamin                                                                                         

BBP107