doormat

by fenix

easily said, oh so freely
you'll always be special to me
it echos in the weeks of silence
like a ghost in the canyon
bouncing off of lonely walls
like a pebble tossed carelessly
landing upon my doormat
as forgotten as i am

i am content in it, finally
chalking it up to youth
the usual fickleness
caused by spring time rut

oh but let him not be so foolish
as to return with empty hands
whimpering for love lost
let him not be so foolish
as to think the first welcome
remains

with so much dust
shaken from his heels
in the great, passionate
rushing departure to chase
some flippant, flitting, flighty thing

for while this welcome remains
for weary travelers
for lost souls
for the righteously sorrowful

there is only the old, oak door
for those who claim
to remember home
but who do so only
when the hearth of another
has gone cold

while the pebble remains
still and cold upon my stoop
i am not the doormat
for a careless, wandering foot