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Poem

Sometimes I Think

Alas, poor York,
I knew him well? 
No. 
That is foolish, 
and crazy. 
Dressed up for a party, 
at the edge of the world, 
where the bright pretty ladies
in wench dresses...
serve fresh made;
apple pie, 
in tiny cups. 

I think of you. 
Really that is not true at all. 
I remember the you, I thought you were. 
The one that started sentences that I finished. 
Ended stories I started. 
Laughed at jokes neither one of us, 
voiced out loud. 
Made references to old movies, 
no one else, 
bothered to watch. 
Much less remember...

You fed lies to the court, 
about me. 
You knew better. 
You were sold out, 
or bought cheap, 
I can not and refuse to care. 

The "one" that I remember, 
he was a hero. 
He rescued me, 
from something I could not say, 
out loud, or silently to the shadows, 
that stood by the door and watched.

I miss you... sometimes. 
But not you at all. 
I miss the you, 
I thought you were, 
or perhaps you were, 
or once you were, 
when we were little, 
and being kids, 
meant something. 
Being adults, 
something else. 

I miss you. 
That you.
Not the you, 
you are...
now.

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