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No, I don't want to taste
Those wild berries again,
And leave it to fate
Wether I'll die or breathe again.
Memories, raw and real, resurface in my head,
How I'd fought off those thorns
And run to my shed.
I can't and won't hate you forever,
I can't and won't love you again, ever.
But I don't want to like you either,
Even just as a friend.
Perhaps thats why I am here.
For each time you show up-
Be it like a lost old traveler,
Or an ancient acquaintance-
I can't refuse you bread and water.
Then follows the chitter chatter,
And I'm here again-
Hoping you never show up again.
'Cause unlike a foe,
I can't slam the door,
on that face.
Unlike a friend,
I can't offer beer,
over stories to share.
And unlike your wife,
I can't warm up the food and bed.
So I hope you never show up here again,
For neither you shall get warmth and laughter,
Nor a night of cold and hunger.
It seems the last resort to be in,
To sleep with a full stomach,
Yet no comfort.
To sleep beside the fireplace,
Yet in no company.
xxx
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Cottage Chronicles
PoetryLife's chronicles from love, sorrow, anger, guilt, shame, happiness buried in a poetic cipher. Would you like some words and wine, on wooden floorboards? ©️ Feronia Grey
