Aug 212011
 
To rob a grave not yet stuffed
	 With friendship, only full of woe
	 For one no longer friend or foe
Or anything, though breath still puffs

And somewhere past horizons dim
	 He lives on like a mute reproach
	 In caustic quiet, silently loath
To burst with bounty I need from him.

Unanswering wall, unhuman hate
	 --Or so I paint him, as I must,
	 Who have no knowing from old trust,
As though Christ transfigured my Greek fate.

I stand before the empty hole
	 I lay myself within the dirt
	 I say a prayer for my hurt
To maggots, and my breath is stale.

If I were all of misery made
	 And could confound my final hour
	 With a tear, then no more power
Would he have than a shade.

Instead there's lodged the sovereign sting
	 Of hope betrayed, hope that will not
	 Die, though hope's death and gory rot
Would stop the hole of my being.

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