PATHOS
by Conrad Hubbard

"Now, to the point," of a heart seeking, 
razor-edged, cold, steel sword, 
striking hard and leaving me peeking, 
through tears, at the next word. 
Crushed hopes force their way, 
from pain-struck eyes, to fall 
into pools of salty tears, gray, 
and, across my pillow, crawl. 
Now, all the love songs bring 
eroding waves of sadness 
and everything is hurting 
in this world of madness. 
But, I understand its not your fault 
that I'm not right; 
I should have called a halt, 
given up without a fight. 
Sorry to have struck back (where was my brain?); 
you shouldn't have been hurt too. 
Takes time to recover, from this pain, 
but I can't stay mad at you. 

January 13, 1985

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