Rock Accountant

Except his confession

“I hated him most
for not having the courage
to ruin us grandly.
To break all the dishes
and burn down the house.
Instead he sunk quiet
into the arms of a beautiful,
weak little bird.
Denied me my spilled blood,
my great war, everything
except his confession.”

— Clementine von Radics

The truth is

“The truth is,
some pain just isn’t worth it.
Sometimes, the hurt gets old.
Sometimes, you get tired of
being the one who has to heal.”

— Caitlyn Siehl

One poem and two children

If I could leave my children and one poem as good as this to the world when I go, life and I would be even. Regis Boff

The More Loving One
by W. H. Auden (1907-1973)
Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.
Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.

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