Departure Poem by Mark Heathcote

Time to call a halt: furthermore depart.
No longer does my stomach wrench or knot;
Your razor tongue has dulled - on my heart
Its blade no longer finds a tender spot.
Molten lava has chilled on the seafloor.
No more allegations can hurt me now,
Aspersions—all your slurs, I've heard before;
They cool into icy wounds a snowplough-
Makes as in rests, never to plough again,
Left like a large anchor without its chain.
I abandoned and though I walk condemn,
I must carry the blame and not profane
The ill-treatment I've suffered at your hands;
Remember everything hereon expands...