The Olive Table

You tried to tell me many times;
I know that now —
‘Twas just so much inveigling
To me

Why you kept on, I wasn’t sure;
I did my thing —
I’d made my choice, and I’d be fine –
You’d see

And while at nights you worried, I
Was unconcerned;
I squandered my own life, you
Knew the cost

The olive table, where you sit, is
Teeming now —
For you are there, and I am
Here, and lost

  The voice that I deflected, heard annoyed,
  Is gone. There’s just the morning birds
  And void

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

One thought on “The Olive Table”

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