I didn't think I could write you one last sonnet:
This form calls for romance, but - as always -
I'll deceive myself; set my heart on it,
Just so I'll write this, to shake my malaise.
For all the flack I gave you, so much went unsaid;
I found wit in your words, warmth in your arms -
You made me smile... I hope you weren't misled
When I cried, for it triggered the alarms:
You left, as ever, though you almost seemed contrite.
The truth is I'd cried for you, not for me -
I sought to say I'd be there, day or night;
I'd always care, no matter what came to be.
I know you much too well to love you as you are,
But I've sworn to always care, and managed it thus far.
YOU ARE READING
Refraction.
PoetrySo many aspects, colours and themes make up our experiences. Truly, is anything entirely good or entirely bad? Upon weighing up the positives and negatives of the past, do we not admit that even tragedy is- in a twisted sort of way- advantageous? O...
