Stubborn, Proud Love
Down those cliffs above the sea,
There are stones who stand unfree
And in the sky there is a moon,
Not to be free anytime soon.
Hence, I stand in the door sill,
Feeling nothing, yet tranquil.
Left in pains of martyr’s height,
Seeing nothing, but the light.
Broken in this vile doorsill,
Having nothing but this will,
To finally find freedom to get in,
To glance my eyes in the within.
And so I stand in the door sill,
Felling warmth and a great chill.
And I should turn around to leave,
But if I go, I’d go to grieve.
Let me in,
To what’s within.
Stepping forward from the sill,
On which loyally stood I so Still.
Copyright © Maude Carthwright | Year Posted 2018
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