a humble crime

tiring days, restless nights

but we don’t look back, do we?

 

oh! to have oblivion again

not this symphony of pleasure and pain

 

a cesspit, a man in the shadow

a storm and a whimper

a disaster past, another brewing

terrible, impulsive, brave; silent, wise, a fool

 

we move away

and onward we go

who knows where

but I wish we didn’t.

 

the soft morning light seems harsh

the wisftulness from March

a devious turn on the road

and we didn’t see how we both fell

too frightened to look up

but we might have caught each other.

 

it is too overbearing to think of

there is lump somewhere in my throat

I hate it.

 

dear poets of yore,

I can’t commit it to word as sweetly

but I know what you mean now

you talked of the bittersweet felony

someone stealing your treasured senses

unlocking a dreaded chest

someone committing a crime

I was the victim

I was the perpetrator

I was the punished

I was the punishment.

 

they leave – must they leave?

it is humbling; they can’t bear my presence

but tell me, what am I to do

if I can’t bear it either?