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4B2


Please, tell me, for you, it was not a total waste,
Thirty two years of our souls entwining.
Tell me there was warmth and joy you embraced.
Like the love of our lives , our precious two,
morphing four into one, without even trying.
I wish I had their strength but I don't think I do.

Tell me for a time, for at least a short moment
that your heart beat for me and your smile was unerring,
Tell me your words were a fervid investment
not hollow discourse just meant to appease me,
or placatory sentiments of habitual murmuring
expressed without meaning,          an embittered plea.

Tell me, please, through our contrived, inane reasons
you must have found cause, at least some simple thing 
that kept you next to me, for so many seasons,
for the hope of renewal as the time slipped away,
more than our passion and more than just clinging,
until the feelings faded from fact to cliche.

Tell me it's not true as we sit in this room without malice or greed,
the judgement is final, dissolution of marriage,
"Best of luck to you, with your divorce," he decreed.
The words yet linger like the executioner's bell.
Fourth floor, section B, room 2, where we were kept hostage,
until we stepped through the door, as our past we expell.


11/26/2022

Copyright © James Inman

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