I am an open piece of work--a slate.
An empty one, and void of taint or spot.
Come, gather round and empty out your hate
And flinch or push aside, no I will not.
Just as a tablet made of solid stone
I am carved deep with words I did not hear;
Or so you thought--for you are flesh and bone
And heeded not the innocence. You sneer
But don't forget the ones you cast aside--
We are the young impressionable ones,
And you in gloating glory and in pride
You deal untainted hearts a hit and run.
Thus set in stone, our hearts are poised to fall
And all I know is, I gave you my all.
postscript
Day 21. First of a series of four sonnets based on the quatrain of day 20.