Tie up your well-wishes with ribbons and bows
though a notary signature might ensure
your promises more to my liking. Who knows
less than me your truest intentions? An obscure
vision of security does less than a warmer
greeting of inaudible reference. It’s your silent
serenity massaging my anxiety, but I’ll endure
the turbulence a while longer without dissent.
Blame it on my emotionally masochistic bent,
but do, indeed, see me at my most pathetic
state. For soon’s the hour when I’ll repent
my weakness. I’ll grow cold and apathetic—
tired of waiting and hanging onto hollow
words. I’ll dance the lead without a follow.
[This old sonnet of mine stands as my own response to a previous sonnet I’d written, “And If”. Check out other original poems here.]