Sorta Kinda Haiku

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Regret, Self-Pity--
Here you are again! You turn
up, though we're not friends.

I prick myself with
needles to feel the blood, but
I'm already dead.

Rain on the roof is
the sound of green hills, full streams,
eventual bloom.

Paw the mouse until
it dies and fling it a bit.
Killing can be fun!

White ghost and dark page,
sun upon the water-- night
approaches alone.

I feel and hear
you breathe. Your side of the bed
is warm, comforting.

Soft heart and fur, quiet,
unruffled gentleness, but
you'll still kill a mouse!