if only i could see what you see
to be where you have been
but you tell me i should not
the sights sour and sadden
the days dark and dusty
the nights are cold alone
in a wasteland of decay

there is no place for me
cleared from your mind there
i am not remembered
until i ask you to let me in
begging
breaking
beating
at the door you once held open
for me
freely
firmly

© 11 July 2009
Cynthia Ryder