Posts Tagged ‘apology’

Falter Not, Fail Not

Posted: April 5, 2014 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Falter not, my eyes,

when I have your Face to see-

fail not, my Words,

to form an Apology.

By tomorrow I will have lost four pieces

of my head: four diamonds, two of which

have yet to emerge;

four relics that have grown inside me;

four friends which have stuck with me

through depression and heartache,

through thrill of stage lights and applause,

through anger and haste

and a five hundred twenty five word apology

to a girl I haven’t seen since.

Tomorrow I part with these old gems,

and I’ll be none the wiser.

A letter

that shouldn’t have had

those things

written on it,

those venomous worms

of ink,

wriggling around: friend or

enemy, friend, enemy,

friendenemyfriendenemyfriendenemy.

Of course she had to stick her nose into this.

I can’t complain,

you can’t get away from her…

not yet. She is your mother after all.

A letter that shouldn’t have been sent.

Not with those words…

The song playing in my head

as I write this is

not yours:

“You always hurt

the ones you love,

the ones

you shouldn’t hurt at all…”

I wish you luck from afar.

Not with those words.

I’m not sure we’ll ever speak again…

not with those words.

Not with those words.

I walk steadily onward, remembering you.

Do not believe, in any instant, that I could forget you.

You are the hands which formed part of me;

you set my stones and built me, guided my hands

and taught me how to paint.

It has taken me until now to realize

that I etched those marks, dark as bruises, under your eyes.

I was the one that made you cry.

I dried you out and gave you nothing,

and for that I am sorry.

But my apology, I must acknowledge, is too late.

Sadly, I have written songs and poems in your honor.

I beg you now to forgive me for whatever poison writhes in them,

those snares have been forged but have yet to see daylight.

For now, I walk the city’s edge,

minding the tide where waves unfold

like wrinkles pressed out of velvet sheets.

You mind the bitter air in the heart of the city.

We’ll stay at these poles.

I may never know whether you read this.

I leave you, ask you to get plenty sleep,

and smile recalling your face during the conversations we had.

We are still teeth in the same mouth,

but we are not close enough to touch each other.