bitter excuse: a plea

Dear whomever, why so bitter?
Afraid
to loose your brain and heart and tongue
into your inner self?
(You've teased the others'
openness for months -
though semi-privately, just now.
Is this not one-sided?)

Dear whomever, when you speak
I hear a wounded heart
that turns its back upon itself
with bitter reasons, bitter excuse.
But these are only heard by you.

Dear whomever, do you remember?
I wasn't kidding about that old stone wall,
my toes cooling in a shady brook -
do you remember?
(If you even care what I think.)

I heard today someone say he
measured life in weeks. A good idea.
Dear one, I've read 12 weeks of bitterness, so far.

I'd love to read the words you have within.
About yourself.
I will appreciate your poems.
I grin now at your wicked sense of humor
but then I turn, in search of substance.

Dear whomever, please share what's in
your heart with all.
When unannoyed, poems so sweet,
so lovely, warm.
Please, let us hear you now.

© h/m/q, Jan 2006