An immutable resonance of dissent
Wrangles from your mouth, hovers
Momentarily then leaves with a closed door.
This is the end of my endeavour

To please the unpleasurable, to make
Right wrongs that I, after all, might
Not have made. But who can tell?
You have trailed your last wind

And now the circumvention of love
Disappears as easily as the faith
Of the fallen Catholic who rails
Against God for not being there

In times of great need and desire,
Whilst I watch through the window,
Disturbed, almost lunatic, waiting
For one shred of evidence that would say

I do not care.