Sticks and stones
(where a little vanity goes a long way)
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[Another poem written for Elaine. Yes, I am definitely discerning a trend.]
Sticks and stones

I thought to change the world, while she
sought wifely domesticity.
She left me with an empty pain
to find someone who sought the same.
Her words like arrows pierced my shell,
but never mind,
it's only Hell.

Sometimes, when the moon is low,
I take a walk down crumbling rows of childhood dreams,
now overgrown
with cynicism, sticks and stones.
So long in learning, now I know:
Her words were what had hurt the most.

~Mark A. Rector

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© 1984 Copyright Mark A. Rector. All Rights Reserved.