A poem based on another poem i wrote based on ANOTHER poem by matthew dickman
Remorse- after Matthew Dickman
When remorse comes to you as Lord Voldemort,
You must invite him inside your home.
You steel your nerves as the long, purple shadows drag
Across the dimming pink sky
You wrap the blanket from
Your bed around you,
Settling on the couch
With a mug of tea.
He sits in the metal chair farthest from the fire,
hard and cold
He tells you he's used to it,
Don't worry.
He begins to speak.
You must not be afraid of his voice,
Like a serpents morbid whisper
He tells you of his life
All he did wrong
How much he longed for the right
You drift over to the radio and turn up Clint Black,
Lord Voldemort pauses, listening for a moment.
He wishes he'd known
That there wasn't any time to kill,
That his payment was due, just like everyone else's
He tells you one last chapter.
Lord Voldemort whispers the tales of Lily and James, of
Little
Harry
Potter
He remembers the harsh green crystals
Shattering the perfect England sky.
He rises from his seat
Heads for the door.
He stops,
Turns.
He tells you to remember,
And I do. I remember the
Harsh words, the
Hard blows,
My first love,
My first scars,
My first heartbreak,
All because of that one man,
My best friend's brother.
Lord Voldemort walks through the door
Left open, warm breeze streaming in.
I bid him farewell. I watch as he leaves, once more
Tom
Marvolo
Riddle.
I smile to myself.
I hope he remembers, too.
