A Perennial Declaration Of Detatchment

Hands washed,
I've dragged myself through the dirt of shame,
The muck of pain
For the last time
Cleaned fingers pressed firmly on the reset button of my life
I will refuse you
My old sweater,
Long worn through longer winters,
Despite your bare threads and uselessness

Spring comes again
But ours is the bulb that will not come again,
Too frozen over to revive itself
Long neglected and left unprotected
Against frost that never thawed
By the sun that never rose
To cast the long shadows of our history along the pavement
Cracked deep from years of shared paths

But I will pave roads for myself
Far too narrow for you to come along
Or come before me again
Stay behind.
I do not require your hand
New-found warmth is mine alone
I cannot share the light of my new sun rising
Casting new shadows on my unturned garden,
The fresh soil of which
Your sandy sentiments can never touch nor taint
And my tears will never again
Refresh your thorns
They will not reach me

Your garden is dead.

by Amanda Saveley

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