Did I forget to include you as one of the few that I confided in,
you rightly ask
Am I by rule then automatically required to, just because,
say what that sad Troubadour whispered to me?
Like steel proclaiming it cannot be bent
like fish continuing to struggle against what plainly is the flow,
like stamped and addressed mail that never gets sent,
like growing old, only to realize just how little you know.
Or can you not rightly surmise that it was pain that I excluded you from
because I loved you?
Don’t act surprised, you knew that long ago, didn’t you?
I remain inspired to protect you in whatever way I can.
I hand carved the failure that my jutting pride arrogantly protruded from,
carry around self-hatred like a spearman with no shield against a sword.
Days marking my slide are much more closely numbered, will soon become
too marked by weakness, no more brainwaves left to record.
You, with those flashing bright eyes that defined blue,
forever closed to me now.
The fires grew ever hotter, no matter which way I ran,
burning up the explanation I so badly long to know.
More shoveling through the aches and pains of life’s wintertime,
sadly blinded, the promises that could be have already been broken.
Some hoary wickedness insanely practiced by some devoid of rhyme,
or rhythm, believing all important words must already have been spoken.
There is no back room of heaven, no cubicle in hell that these things are decided in;
It is mostly random,
like wirespring clockwork kept unwound except for special days;
profound disbelief sent out as maybe came back as never.