I want to write a poem
yet words resist,
wrapping around thoughts,
ribbons binding bundles,
of love letters to my soul
beginning "Dear John,"
and ending "I want to
remain friends, you know
how much I care for you"
these unloving words tumble,
jumble, hide in my attic
forgotten, refusing to reveal
cohesive messages, there
is nothing left of wisdom.
lacking sleep, I recall the
meaning of the date
past midnight, this new day
brings memories of a wedding
long ago, forty two years, in fact
since I stood beside
torment and torture
vowing twelve hateful little
words that bound me
eight years and a lifetime
of self immolation
"for better or for worse
until death do us part"
that life dead long ago,
ever a thorn caught between
then and a future of happiness
the only memories
that bring the hint of smile
are days of dying lilacs
and Queen Anne's Lace
pressed between pages
of ancient scripture
lost in the annals of time
©25 August 2019
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