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Jan 2023
Rarely does someone knock at my door . . .
It may be the darkness that they fear;
Through the open windows my voice resounds,
Perhaps they're startled by what they hear

I do tend to rant in mournful ways,
Maybe at times, a bit too robust,
But this is my voice, and these are my words,
So maintain your distance, if you must

There are those who commune quietly,
Speaking of God and his loving ways;
And those who reminisce about their youth,
Recalling scenes from happier days

But never has God come to my door,
So I have no divine tales to tell;
My youth was simple, passed with nonchalance,
So on this theme I've no need to dwell

But I could speak of cold, lonely nights
And the anguish of being alone;
How adept I am at nursing  love's wounds,
Yet, I never learned to heal my own

More than once, rough winds have ****** me down,
And Time had to re-feather my wings;
I've been neglected, abandoned and lost,
So I tend to dwell upon these things

You'll not hear a cheerful melody
Streaming through the broken window panes,
There's no roaring fire blazing on the hearth,
Just smoldering embers of love's remains

Skies become gray, and clouds tend to burst
When they pass over my little space;
Perhaps this is why guests dare not linger . . .
Too daunting and dismal is my place.
Well, then be off with you, and quicken your pace!
Lorraine Colon
Written by
Lorraine Colon  Missouri
(Missouri)   
145
   Christine Ely
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