I painted your portrait today
your yellow hair suddenly
turned gray--
your green eyes went black
your smile
went slack
and the paint ran
down the canvas
in rivulets of what looked like
discolored blood
pooled  there on the floor
--formed it's own kind of mud
I stood there
not at all proud
of my rendition of you
yet--knowing your portrait
was something
I was compelled to do
and if ever you come by
to see me again
I'll let you have it
(the painting)
minus your evil grin.
(it's lying there on the floor)
Oh, you won't miss it, I assure you--
it's right here just inside
what used to be
our front door...

That metaphorical
knife?
Cuts Deep,
So very Sharp
and painful
slicing into my soul
I wish you'd taken it
with you
when you said you had
to go...

It's the waiting
the not knowing
the uncertainty
and fear...

but it's the moments
when the waiting is over
that keep me coming back
year after year...