Hatred

Hatred

rises at the

thought of you standing there

before me with arms outstretched like

I should still be in love with you. I cringe.

I recoil and you advance like

touching me will make right

all the hurt and

hatred.

Anger

rises at the

thought of you watching me,

eyes searching for a flash of hope,

a moment of weakness when you can pounce,

say sorry, and think our lives will

go on like all is right.

You'll see only

anger.

by Jennifer Clark

(c) April 12, 2013


For more information about National Poetry Writing Month go to the NaPoWriMo website.