Apathy of Time
Blank face with scythe
drips sand like frozen blood
cut from my veins a tithe
for my trouble, slammed door
a choir of entreaty, all poor
like the life sap cut, a dud.
How many you demand blythe
shrugs, with a heart's thud thud
demanding youth, live lithe,
when demanded I gave galore
listing softly now, my life outpours
but your face, blank, still, no good.
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2018
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