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Pool of Good Intentions

I can’t remember
When the broken heart started
Or when the love

But two birthdays have gone by
In the blink of an eye
With no paid attention
And did I fail to mention?

Under the Christmas tree,
Were no gifts from him to me.
Now gifts aren’t all that amounts
But the thought does count.

Everything I crave
Is his attention
It’s like I’m in a dessert,
Or center for detention

A penitentiary.
These steel bars
Cage his love from me.
Have me walking on a dry,
Hot day
No water.
No card, either.
It’s like leaning on
The North Pole
With no heater.

I’m cold now
Don’t remember how
It got this way
On another birthday

I can’t remember when
The broken heart started
Or when
The love departed.

Another year of my life
Not celebrated.
My desires berated
That’s when the love turned to hatred.

No cards, no gifts
No thoughts
Or intentions.
And did I fail to mention?

No sacrifices made.
No price tags paid.
Just excuses laid,
On another birthday.

How many more can I take?
Will 24 I make?
Before my love freezes over.
On the tundra of "I meant to"

“Just wait", he says,
“And next year you’ll see."
But how can I believe him,
When this action he repeated.

I can’t remember
When the broken heart started,
Or when the love

But another birthday’s gone by
In the blink of an eye
And all he can talk about
As we begin to fight and shout

Is how I need to wait it out.

Better late than never,
Tell that to the leaper,
Waiting for healing.
These painful sores
Scab over my feelings.

Drowning in his pool of good intentions;
Broken promises pulling me under,
His procrastination tied to my feet
Like cindered blocks of concrete.

Gasping for air,
Screaming in despair.
He stands by all the while
With a wink and a smile.

My last moments close in
The water rushes passes my skin
Closing in around my life
In his hand, the preservation device.

Printed on the ring,
The letters tell me to "WAIT"

He was too late.

I can’t remember
When the broken heart started,
Or when the love

But two years went by
Without acknowledgement
Of my existence.
And he failed to listen.

November 2007
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Submitted on May 02, 2011

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Rachel D. Kabuss Claim this poet

I'm 25 years old, and plan to have a book published with my poems, stories, and narratives by the time I'm 30.I grew up in a small farm town in Kentucky, but moved to Cincinnati shortly after graduating highschool. I work in sales and marketing.I have always been a writer. I remember being told I was a "natural born writer" as early as elementary school and encouraged to keep going. I think my first poem was about my dog at that time, if I remember correctly.Poetry comes to me in spurts. The words and the lines just show up in my head, and won't go away until i write them down. It's not something i can force. Ever. It's not on demand. It's an experience. An unction. Poetry is also the way I maintain my sanity and get all the emotions I have on the inside out, calmly, and logically. I can always express myself better in writing than in speech. I have a rule that no one can read anything I write until it's finished. I have a few unfinished pieces. I wrote a children's book last year, am waiting on it to be published. That was a new experience.My pen-name is Dawn Sherman. And my online "handle" is most commonly Rdpenny. You can find me on Facebook or Myspace, or even on my Shutterfly photography website by that name.Please give me any feedback you'd like about my pieces here. more…

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