Another poem written for Elaine. Yes, I am definitely discerning a trend.
This was originally published at:, now defunct.
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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.

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