You can
steal my
poems,
the pain
is mine;
I earned
the rhymes
with failure
and its bright
consequence.

Too young
to love;
too old
to be loved–
I loved.

I put ear
to ground
and listened
to the music–
an infra-sound
of beating hearts.

I threw my
gauntlet down
and rushed
into the light
to find myself
alone except
for this small poem.

So take it all
the words,
the images,
the rhymes
but leave
behind the
color, please!

I wear it when
I’m blue and red
and all the leaves
have fallen from
the trees and all
the music’s fled.