The Coldness Of His Heart Poem by betty redd

I saw from the message, you had not envisioned my finding out
your feelings like the love you so fervently expressed
were not easily to be accessed from the heart of yours.

I sought to find the title of your famous manuscript you had
so insistently had written, alas; no where to be found at a publishers
convention.

You saying it was being written and almost finished,
while I knew in my heart it was written by someone else.

I had seen the work at a different store in the next town.

Why in all of your imagination would you claim anothers work?

Was it just the loneliness from being by ones self or just get my
attention to see the lies coming to the source were finally ending?