|
I slump this cold path every day
Wearing this gaudy coat
Someone left at a church jumble sale
And no one bought
My life is like that cold village hall
Black shoes squeaking
Scattering this way and that, old music
Sugary tea in mugs
I kept every love poem I wrote you
When I was seventeen
In a tuppoware box underneath my bed
Though unread, for a while.
__________________
"Do not tell lies, and do not do what you hate,
for all things are plain in the sight of Heaven. For nothing
hidden will not become manifest, and nothing covered will remain
without being uncovered."
The Gospel of Thomas
|