You should come and stay for a while
a week, a month, a year, a moment
we could compare scars and stories of
battles lost and surrenders made
and why comedies make me cry
bleed words from open heart wounds
and hear the raven at the door
and if you hear me weep at night
or see me stare full-lost at an empty space
those are merely manifestations
of a naked vulnerability
to the depredations of life once lived
I will confess my sins, and those against me
for which I still hold myself to blame
and in the telling not seek absolution
so much as the clearance of the weary field
there is no solace in a tear stained face
and the words bled out of calamitous misfortune
but sorrows shared can sometimes find
some small way to lessen the sharp-edged setbacks
of the exigencies of abandoned devotion

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