A poem about un-love

Hate is too strong a word

for you. That would be absurd.

A person who claims uncle-hood,

yet is too absent to be any good,

couldn’t dredge any sense of feeling

or, while I’m at it, any point or meaning.

You pop up when there’s cash

or a chance to cut a dash.

And you act like your heart bleeds

when anyone has a need.

But your soul was sold some time ago

to the devil of distance, or vertigo.

You count your change, your deeds turn sour,

yet you turn up pure at the golden hour.

My un-love for you is cold and life-long.

Hate? That word for you is far too strong.

For NaPoWriMo Day 10

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