How many nails do I have to have <br />hammered into my brain to realise <br />we don't fit? <br /> <br />This liaison has always been flawed. <br />Gel, we never did, but we had passion. <br />A wealth of it. <br /> <br />Should I take this hammer <br />and strike the final blow? <br />I don't know. <br /> <br />Hammers strike memories, <br />as though they're all piano keys <br />and the sound is harsh.. <br /> <br />They have me re-visiting old war wounds <br />that I should have buried years ago. <br />They are awakening. <br /> <br />They've been dormant for so long. <br />Maybe I should have one final strike <br />and put them to rest. <br /> <br />The trouble is, if I pick up the hammer <br />and strike the first blow, <br />I may never stop<br /><br />Ruth Walters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bad-fit/
