I (anger, pain, tears.... and love infinite)

Who am I to you anymore?

The source of trouble, of pain,
of passion of anger tears
of love regret remorse regret love
love, love, love?

Who am I to you, a stranger
once close to your heart but now                    distant                       
because of a moment's thought and
a whispered word from a friend uninvolved?

I, who must sit at my desk lonely and staring
at a single post-Valentine's-Day rose slowly dying before me
because its red blossom does little to cheer up the gloom,
and yet can't bring myself to water it like love,
and cannot throw it away like love lost or losing?

I, who would jump through rings of fire and sit
mindless hours to spend an extra minute with you on my arm,
elbows linked, eyes linked, hearts linked,
never thinking but only knowing love
love! was there with you?

I, who was there with you, happiness
or rage and screaming and sadness,
cuddling and fighting, turned away pouting
and anger, anger to push away the infuriator,
you the infuriator, you my fury?

I, who am content as more of a human
than you ever were or are
hiding cowardly in the corner beneath your facade
trying to drown me in your darkness
as you cast down the garment
you pretended to love in spite of the sun I brought
and was to your winter sky?

I, who rescued you like a mother
treated you like a royal
to be left wondering if you ever loved
me her them us life any of it
besides your mask sword and the broken
mantle of the white knight you had slain?

I, who was -- still am -- always willing to look past the bloodied metaphor,
and see underneath to the cowering child
that never learned to grow up and only needed
loving arms to steady himself and become
that white guardian again?

I, who would lay down my dagger
gentle.... gentle.... gentle....
and lull you to sleep and dreams,
dreams of us happy again,
never to pick the blade up again?

Yes,
I.