To Anne:
I thought I could write a poem as lovely as you.
But you were far more beautiful than any word I knew.
So how could a quatrain be a quatrain…?
If it wasn’t meant to be madness I disdain.
How could a smile so sweet
Could break my heart so easily?
Questions to how…
The answers to why…
Every dreaming…
Every image I was seeing was a picture of your face.
At nights of peace,
There I’d stare…
Watching you as you sing…
And hearing the melodies of the dark blue moon...
Then you’d look at me...
Then you’d look at me...
All I ever had was a heart that didn’t beat.
But was it love I never meant to have…
Or was it a feeling that was never meant to be?
I thought I could be the man that would make you smile.
But all I ever had was a poem to recite.
But a poem could not be a poem if it wasn’t for you dear.
This poem of foolishness I needed you to hear.
I’d be singing you a love song.
I’d rather be dead.
I’d be writing this poem.
But I wasn’t prepared.
I wasn’t sure.
I didn’t know if that was true.
I was falling in love…
and the love was you.
How dare you tear my heart into two?
How dare you mix with my blues?
How dare you lady?I hate you…
But I love you.
To Anne,
The poem was me…
Read between the lines.
Lastly
These words I wanted you to hear...
Fuck you…
Friday, February 29, 2008
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