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Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

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More Poetry >>

Not The Soured Milk of Human Kindness.

It happened
the day you nearly died.
I went out looking for some society
to soothe me.
I had to obscure the wooshing of the machines
I heard when I walked into your room.
Couldn't tell you that it disturbed me.
Kept showing you only the silvery hope shining in my eyes,
not the blackness of the dejection I felt.
I went to a place we usually went together.
Hoping that it would make me feel, perhaps, believe
that you were along.
Drank two drinks to calm my nerves, then even less calmly
I picked out this song: True Colors.
After singing it in my strongest, bravest voice,
I made a dedication to you.
A sincere gesture made by someone usually so shy...
when a drunken young man quipped...
" well, aw, gee, isn't that special?"
Smarminess, like the alcohol, came oozing from his pores.
I ran out the door.
And then all the way home up the hill.
Sitting in the apartment in complete darkness,
I held Lucky closely to me as I covered her in tears.
I prayed and plead out loud in a voice approximating a dull roar.
"God, do you consider everyone? Well, won't you?"
"No one should have to be in so much pain."
At that moment, I don't know who I was referring to, you or myself.
Then it seemed to me, a soft light filtered in through the window.
Never mind if it was just the street light.
It did the trick.
I took it as my sign.
Blissfully I fell asleep in my clothes.
How we get through in life, sometimes no body quite knows
or understands...
but it is often by sheer force of free will
and not the soured milk of human kindness.






Copyright July 18, 2012 All Rights Reserved By This Author
a "free write"  Melissa A Howells   Meloo from her Tilt-a-World





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Not The Soured Milk of Human Kindness.


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