I owe you this, let's remenice,
About the good, the bad, the bliss.
I wrote a poem about your eyes,
Night's black pools that crystalize.
I tore that page and cast it down,
fearing glares from eyes of brown.
Those months in passing, like a dream,
now in dreams, they're only seen.
And stolen miles far away,
keeping my mistakes at bay.
I owe you much, you showed me much,
my guilt stays, though your out of touch.
Lines from works i did in wonder,
while you lay at home in slumber,
cemented in my mind for real,
all that evening's look and feel.
And when i made my craven error,
all my honor fled in terror.
The blame and hatred may have died,
but the truth remains, i lied.
And you remained the pure of good,
while i never did as i should.
So now im taking back that song,
in hopes of righting what was wrong.
For Kitty |
