I keep saying I carried
Us alone for a year,
In the face of
Abhorrence - derision and rage,
In truth some of each with
Much good reason,
I keep saying,
As you did,
That my love is not enough,
Keep saying that now
It's your time to shine and that Indeed now you must,
And yet even as you
Reach out in a way
I am supposed to honour,
Your tone is dipped
In censure and rebuke,
Accusation and deep ire,
What you seem not
To understand is you
Are in fact,
For all your vaunted effort,
Merely nailing our coffin lid,
Firmly,
Shut.
There is a frustration within this poem I scarce can name
