Sonnet: On My Failure To Pine

Lay down your arms; I will not come your way

though all of Hell prevail, though night falls thick;

though candles seem to gutter at the wick

and all the paths lead only there, today.

I do not heed your call; I do not come

though you may send me spells upon the breeze;

I'm lost to you, away on richer seas.

I want a loaf; you offer me a crumb.

I do not need the portions of your heart

which once were mine. I do not need your soul;

I do not want your essence, or your whole;

I do not mourn that we are far apart,

and as I rest this pen from words now spun,

I do not think of pasts long dead, and done.

Copyright 2017, Lisa Morris