Sentiment

by G. H. Smith

What was it, muse, you
so desperately wanted me to say?
You tried everything to no avail.
Even now steeped in well–earned
self pity, I remain
deaf as a black hole.

The answer must lie
in the past some small detail
so insignificant that
it got overlooked.

For both our sakes,
I wish I knew
how to please you
and thus be relieved
of my responsibilities.

What good can come
from heaping further abuse?
Send me love, youth,
The temptation of unattainable dreams.
I promise to be eloquent.