dearest

dearest, i hoist your pennant
over my ramparts still. it is
a tattered faded thing, but
still flaps bravely, strongly
in spite of the feeble breeze.
i am waiting for you to crest
the hill, returning to face what
you ran from and see it there,
waiting to welcome you,
hoping that my show of acceptance
and peace will lull your fears.
i remain, ever faithful,
ever yours, though you were
always a faint-hearted lover:
happy to stand beneath my window
calling out my name,
declaring your passion
so long as there was
no one else around;
happy to recieve my love tokens,
my heart,
yet without returning
anything of your own.
i found the tokens i gave you
strewn carelessly over
the muddy ground
where you used to stand,
i gathered them up carefully
and have stored them here,
ready to give to you again.
i choose to stay in this prison,
torturing myself with thoughts
of what could have been,
what might be,
what will be,
a fitting punishment
for such weakness,
i suffer for love,
all the while knowing
what a yellow-hearted cur you are,
so unworthy of the
reguard i hold you in,
and yet, my ever hoping heart
sees something in you,
some diamond spark,
and tells me to hold on,
to hold on.