(February/'47 / Connecticut, USA)

Beneath Bridges Burned

I can not say,
I have an ability...
To turn my emotions off.
Then on to turn back off again.
And they stay that way.
But I can refuse them,
Being available to share...
When they were there,
Prepared to be accessible.
Showing to others I cared,
Unconditionally.
Today winds blow!
And not often with sweet breezes.

But I do remember to reminisce,
When my feelings quick to give...
Became subjected to conditions made.
To have me forced to protect,
And defend them not to neglect.
Well,
It was not easy for me to accept.
Since,
Expectations I kept but left unknown...
Exposed to me a disrespect shown.
A weed allowed to grow,
Can kill the flourishing of a blooming quick.

And with that to continue,
I could not condone.
Or sentiments I thought believed,
Would be spared of judgements passed.
So pointless it is and needless to ask,
From me a solicited opinion to give.

'I can not understand,
How some people can sit pretending...
The events of day do not bother them.'

I remember when the sky had less haze,
On sunny days.
And the water that flowed,
Beneath bridges burned...
Appeared cleared and free of pollution.

'That makes no sense.'

That's what I'm saying.
It doesn't.
None of it does but it's witnessed.

by Lawrence S. Pertillar

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