White Down Comforter
(John Raymond Pollard)
2002-04-01



I sit by the fire, perhaps overtired.
I'm feeling alone,
feeling abandoned, tired of understanding;
I wish that you were home.
My friends are good friends.
They visit; they phone.

My words may sound angry. I feel a dull pain.
Guess I'm reeling with rage.
Instead of this grieving, hoped I'd be receiving,
thought I'd come of age.
I don't bend until I break down.
I can't pretend all the world is a stage.

Although we go like lambs to slaughter,
we don't lie down so easily.
It's told that Jove did love his daughter.
Warm the white down comforter can be.

And my tribulations rise from expectations
of being with you.
I want what I want; I'm willing to work;
I always made do.
What I want I'm not getting
enough of lately in relation to you.

My love, I'd even lick your lesions
to help you heal your wounds, though I'm afraid.
But there have been so many times, my darling,
I put my trust in you and felt betrayed.

And my tribulations rise from expectations
of being with you.
I want what I want; I'm willing to work;
I always make do.
What I want I'm not getting enough of lately
in relation to you.