Hope II

Those eyes stare again,
but now I know what they see -
a degraded creature.
A dog.
Enough to pet now
and then leave.

Enough to pat and say
'Good job, girl'
while I beg and plead.
Somehow,
I always end up on my knees

And for the worship I give,
for all the times that I try (I cry) -
nothing,
except a little concern
from those Willow Eyes.

Longing to take back the words.
Please - take back the words!
They hurt.

But no touch of care,
no holding tight through the cold hours.
Forgotten, like the tea
made last thing at night.
Left alone -

The morning finds me cold.