Unnamed

Ah, so we meet again!
At every hour that needles bye
And pincer mine self in whimpering pain.
And lead thee into another minute dry.

Why do you see me? In thy sight I crumble.
Like embers, you feed, red and yellow.
And singe mine mind, on a downhill tumble.
As the flowers draw me red that lies helpless below.

It wasn’t me. I cry for thine merciful arm.
To vanish mine sores in thine silken touch.
And like dew, shalt I wash feet thine warm,
Off the cruel dust; worthless even of thy crutch.

I fall again; like a beaten dog.
I whimper and cry for a fault not mine.
And I wake up to see thy hand in flog.
And I fall again; the dust in my brine.

And I wear the dust; it clothes me now.
And I long to see myself clean and dry.
But thy sight talks me into a shame I didn’t know.
And I wear the dirt, I don’t know why.

It wasn’t me. I cry and thou still lookest.
Oh stop! Thy looks have scorched the sun in me.
Let me be and go thy way west.
And I shalt find mine east where the sun’s a babe in mother sea.

Why doest thou still look? I lie naked, for the dust.
Ride away and leave mine guilt to thaw.
And memories to shatter and redden as rust.
For no one to see, like no one had saw.

Ah! He goes! In merriment I cry!
For he goes west! The cruel one to his cruel haunt!
Ah! I laugh! What joy as thou fly!
Till the woesome morn when thy return thy jaunt.

I spit at thee. For thy sight and wicked smile.
That taunteth me, even when thou art gone into thy west.
For the dust undying wraps the nightly world vile.
I wake up dirty into the dirty morn, from a restless rest.