Spare

For how long,

will I be kept awaiting

procrastinating along

elapses of postponements

awaiting along a long

holding this love, to a pend.

Once clouds rise to the west,

you tell of how yet it's to rain

when south winds blow,

you say, it's gonna be hot

but why can't you read signs,

why haven't you have noticed me yet?

I've been through quite a lot

quite from far, hurt along

see my sore soles

and a few scratches on,

along quests for a lost rib,

here ends I weary and helpless.

Nevertheless, I know less of there,

where from you've been and perhaps,

what you've been through,

that matters not, what maters is,

you and I in place, could be the remedy.

november (the black poet)

*woes of a sombre heart *

November Wordsworth