pot of gold

I am sure that there are reasons
you don't love me like you could
some of them are just plain lame
some of them may be good

the many lines that you cast out
won't float upon the water
nary a fish will hit your line
but you just can't be bothered

it's all about the giving out
not about any return
like the Phoenix of long ago
eventually you crash and burn

your legs are tired and you're weary
from the mountains that you climb
you've spent it all on souvenirs
you're down to your last dime

I may not tell this story right
but at least my side gets told
while you were chasing rainbows
you passed up the pot of gold

Poetry by M.J.B. is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License