I

I

Care not for your love nor your lie of grace,

weep not when you fade nor wish you a taste,

will not allow you to spit in my face,
shall stand tall all awhile you fall with haste.
 Ring from your lips as a half-hearted curse,

drive a knife into your cold heart of stones,

heavy words fall short of our lips we transverse,

feel pressure of eyes heavy on my bones.

Growl with anger and roar with strong new fight,

hate what you say and do with great passion,

show not pain nor fear of you in the slight,

claw and scream at you in a tense fashion.

fall slow with a growing sense of sorrow,

cry faintly of a life I must barrow.

By Nathan L. Koontz