If only I could sing sweet lullibies to you every night.
But everytime I open my mouth I falter at speech.
No attempt has sprung enough beauty to be held in your presence.
Only a pitiful urge to let be known of what is in my heart.
Far too inflicted with these tramatic realizations which could only result
from a manafested ill-will.
The image of your perfection is only altered by the consistant bitterness
within.
I long for the strong embrace only your words could bring.
But years long past, and not a single letter had I recieved.
Day by day I watch you, with a hope the memories will run through your
thoughts again
 
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