you do not notice it
– or there were times, perhaps, where you once did,
that with every slamming door
the meaning of my smile misplaced in you belief that you could
shut it again,
and again more;
when all my smile meant to convey
that whilst understood,
the slamming of the door was not something that was good
for me;
i am no saint and will not for this hurt apologise –
love forgives, and weeps those who weep
that clearer be the vision,
when love patient stoops to dry the eye
exclusion makes its scars, this flesh cannot but remark,
tho’ wish i often it would speak in quieter tone;
you hear it,
yet i am left unheard.
