The name Rolfe means something to me.
Something binding, something sore,
But bittersweet,
Winding like a flame
Following a gas track down
The frame of me.
You see, Rolfe's still in control,
Though I turn my face to heaven
And plead
It not be so.
Dear God, I pray, if only I
Could be his friend...
But it's not to be.
He turns
(That Arian devil)
With ice blue eyes
(and heart)
And hails some unseen ghost,
Something I can never be.
And I melt alone
In an empty sanctuary of shame,
Into a puddle of 
Lasting only for
His sake.

Copyright 2008 Kristin McKenna Clouse

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