Inevitably,
The words I spoke,
Meant not one thing,
Whom would I try to help,
With my everything?
Are you that blind,
You can’t see love,
Are you that burnt,
That your scars are covered up?
What a path,
To walk thenceforth,
Like a rain cloud,
Washing away your feelings,
Your left with nothing,
But your being.

A care to share,
I always gave,
You stared it down,
And ran from it away.
You were given
Something you never knew,
But you refused it.
A disdain attempt,
To keep it away,
Deep within,
You wanted it to stay.

You now ponder,
Regret as it seems,
That you destroyed,
A heart,
And a voice of which you may not speak.

Do I write of fiction?
Love in a way?
No,
But a tragedy,
That Romeo didn’t say.

 
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