Lower than the altitude of dirt
The face love once held
Wears a tag of emptiness
Special turned upside down
Equal to number nothing.
A puppy whose only wrong
Was growing up too fast
Gets left out in the cold rain
Where kindness kept company
Instead of abandoning.
You leave my often and sure
With words bereft of meaning
And desolate of assurance
For youth and impulse
Equal to number nothing.
Your betrayal is a knife behind
The back you once stood by
I was baby instead of a name
Written beside yours in light
Now worthless and alone.
Copyright © 2021 Charles Edward York
No part of this poem may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any way or form or by any means electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise without the written permission of the author.*