Rainbows in My Attic
As we sat there at the table, I said,
"You know I have feelings for you, don't you?
You're only being nice...." Then you nodded your head,
slightly, and you turned to me smiling and you
looked as if you didn't want to kill me
but you had to kill my hopes -- tenderly
(like a little foal with a broken knee
or an old dog you put down -- tenderly).
I smiled back then and helped you with the ropes.
"I'm not a kid," I said, and, "It's okay."
That's when you rose to leave and all my hopes
died at the gallows -- where they hang today.
But isn't that so melodramatic?
Hopes are rainbows I make in my attic.
~Mike Duron (composed December 17th, 2001)
No comments:
Post a Comment