Poetry (3)

And, every time I’m asked
By someone how I am,
I act as if I’m tasked
With building…

And, even though it’s cold outside,
It’s colder in my heart;
My very will to live has died,
And wholeness…

And, even if you’d said you’d had
Some terrible diseases,
I’d still have been as glad as glad
To get…

I know your silence isn’t just
A thing concerning me,
But, since our love returned to dust,
I’ve felt…

At times, I’ve made like Robin Hood,
At other ones, like Job:
I’ve run with outlaws through the wood
And worn…

You ask me how I am, today,
As if you didn’t know,
Since, ever since you went away,
I’ve lost…

And, just because my vision’s weak
And everything is blurred,
It doesn’t mean that I can’t speak
Or savour…

And, from the point of view of me,
The world is nothing more
Than a single country and a sea
Connected by…

And, even after all this time,
My ego plots and schemes
To carry out the perfect crime
And realise…

And, in the end, I say, “Enough”
And turn to walk away,
But, having spoken so much guff,
There’s still…