I have sat here looking through the empty window of my mind
Having buried my soul under
This protective insulation . . a pile of emotions
An empty pane
Serving me no purpose
Injected by the needle of spite
A past time of another’s shallow delight
And insecure denial of right.
Contrasting with the warmth of my open arms
I feel obliged to embrace
Refill the reservoir of life
That once flowed easily
From the inside, to the outside.
2006 D. L. Cox