To The Hilt

Vintage Words


Love was fleeting but intense

and separations usually gave birth

to confusion. No appendix anymore,

living with relatives. Given late

a chance to heal old wounds. I reaped

new scars until the elders died.

I felt little looking down

at accumulated dust.


A wound of another kind labeled never

loved. There will be no tombstone for me.

No place to visit and contemplate

what my life was like or may have been.

There are some wounds that take

an eternity to mend and I plan to play

it to the hilt.




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