WARDS.

Though we may gravitate towards the tin opener
I still believe we can tell the difference between
A giver and a taker,
Even if some people can’t tell their past
From a smouldering wound,
And are incapable of moving on.

My play list is littered with bitter critics
But I’m still prepared to watch the clock stopped
Action again and be objective,
And realise I didn’t always perform
With the skill of my abilities,
Or with their best interests at heart,

But some just can’t, or won’t or simply don’t want to
Respond to the obvious judgements
Time has made against our cases,
And insist they were not responsible
For their half of the time share apartment
They once invested in;

They believe they were controlled by a scullery’s rota
In order to force through cleaning schemes,
Or weren’t afforded enough rest
In which to stew their futures in,
And are left with a mess that simply settles
When they finally get out of bed.

And that’s fine and that’s cool and their rules
Will no doubt still apply to other rooms
They will eventually inhabit,
But my stab at it was fatal and that’s that,
And now I’ve evolved and am attached to the thatch
That covers my new lover’s kitchen.