I was in the way.
But you couldn't tell me.
Instead you chose
wise word swords
with which to cut me down
cold straight stares
with which to burn me up
hazy rumor swirls,
and manipulations.
They left me sore.
No, yours was not the prose of Love.
Your verses, adjectives, verbs, nouns...,
could only do so much.
The truth is more.
"The Truth doesn't make a sound."
No comments:
Post a Comment