Saturday, February 17, 2018

But I want to.

Usually I am not at such a loss for words,
But how easily you plucked that chord,
As if each note were someone else,
And not the song within ourselves.

Tepid I was, for in the moment having not
The skill, nor courage to dare malign,
With my untuned snarls and tarnished bent,
Your offered hymns, too left to silence, then.


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