Hatred and Impotence

by Ronald Joe Record

I very nearly called you last night.
A desire to flail you with words possessed me.
Perhaps if i poured my anger over you
    like scalding water on a bed of ashes,
You'd rise to life in a cloud of steam

I stopped myself.
Fearing romantic infection
Seeking un-dreamt resurrection
Hiding within my own imperfection

My anger with you is elusive
It slips from my grasp
    just as it reaches the heat of action.
If i could hold it within me
    for just one more hour,
The reflections of rejections and corrections
Could burn the scars of scorn -
    cauterize derision's incisions
Implode the black heart of disgust.

I confess, my hatred for you is impotent.
It is bathed and beaten from me
By the blazing beauty
Of the image you left
Of yourself in me.

I love that shining face.

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