You I Serve Yet You I Should Loath Poem by Bruce Gashirabake

Ductile me you used to own,
Stubbornly I left you face frown,
Irate you grew, from headstrong me oh so brown,
I that still culminated your daily joy- you gave a crown.

Downstairs I remember,
You yelled me in that coat- the one made of amber,
Unreceptive I sat there eating my cucumber,
Yet the morning, I earned a smile on your face once so somber.

I have come back an umpteenth time drunk,
In that well of animosity I have again sunk,
Your sweet words my insults collide but you still bank,
Tender you are, next morning, to calm this wailing swarm in my trunk.

This buzz is not so mellifluous to your ears,
‘Stop the music' you have always yelled for years,
Not moved I speedily hold on to the steer that unravels my fears,
We are knocked and forever separated I am from your cares.

What a miserable man I stay,
In that waiting room like eternity seems my day,
As the doctor shakes his head in my face,
Forever imprinted on my brain is your departure that cruel May.

I have come to despise love,
That thief that robs mercilessly yet disguises like a dove,
The pain-inflicting demon never leaving me in a cove,
Yet only you can remind me of my other half- you I am bound to serve.