You raise, again, so phoenix like,
dead ashes, into flames.
But now I have your measure,
I won't play your cruel games.
I sit alone, and stare at walls,
My mind is filled with you,
But constancy, is not your style,
It's something you eschew.
You don't come home for days on end,
Then turn up, like a ghost.
Your head, you rest, upon my chest,
That's when love you most.
One day you have eyes of fire,
The next, you're cold as ice.
If you want to stay with me,
Then take this sound advice:
If you don't start to behave, I'm going to nail up that Cat Flap! !
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Owain Glyn's Other Poems
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Constant Inconstancy by Owain Glyn )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
(1644 - 1694)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1612 – 16 September 1672)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
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