Expect

by on December 3, 2016 :: 0 comments

I once knew a poet
capable of torture,
beautiful,
full of the fire
of himself.
I broke my heart
upon him.
Now it hurts less
because I don’t expect
him to be noble.
I don’t expect anything.
I just watch and wait
as he plays himself out.
He’s still beautiful.

editors note:

No expectations; yet, hope for the poet in us all. (Read another of Trier’s missives; the ultimate selfie – check it out on her page.) – mh clay

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