All I see...Now that vision fades
Is a past life...Full of many mistakes

All I see...Is a past of regrets
A past of hate...One that sadness begets

Crying to skies...A full moon
Life full of lies...The End soon

Crying to skies...The time nears
Withering ties...Bonds to disappear

Yet I see...my world cast away
This sorrow...a betrayer's dismay

Yet I see...your world born
A joy...my death to mourn

A coffin...nailed shut
Death...Life, it cuts

The things
I have done
For you
Cannot be counted
On two hands

And neither
Can the times
You have let me down

The times I have
Forgiven you
Cannot be counted
With the hairs
On my head

And neither
Can the times
You didn’t deserve
My forgiveness

The times I have
Seen goodness
In your eyes
Cannot be counted
With the freckles
On my skin

And neither
Can the times
You took my
Second chances
For granted

The times I have
Wanted to say goodbye
Can be counted
On one hand

And the times
I actually will
Can be counted on

One finger

I may act a bit odd every now and then
You call me a puppy, but I'm fully human
Sure, in good weather, I roll down a window
And stick my head out as far as I dare go
Yes, I also stick my nose in the air and sniff
If I smell food, perfume, or anything amiss
And I might snuggle up to you at random times
When I feel lonely or can't keep open my eyes
Though I'm an introvert, I'm good with a pack
But with those unfamiliars, my social skills lack
I'm often quiet, but I can raise my voice
I bark loudly and howl with joy if given the choice
I can be a bit akward, pushy, or clumsy
But despite stupid mistakes and curiosity, I'm no dummy
Okay, you may have been right all along
That some part of me is that of a dog

We sketched it out,
Construed an outline
With bullet points;
Worked on the draft,
Fashioned the conclusion
While forming an introduction,
And through infusion,
Developed an argument.

From thesis to synthesis
We entered the plot,
Quite sure of twists,
Not knowing the costs.
Our assay would go
Something  like that.

Plodding forward
Through antithesis,
The crises, decisions,
Then the denoument.

In conclusion,
To summarize:
The vacant character
Of my eyes,
Was the climactic dowfall;
Your hero dies.

The final draft
Was finely crafted,
Something just like that.

I was raised on the shelf
Of a white bread world;
No marbled rye
Or whole wheat served.
Just plain white loaves,
All crusty and cold.
But my tastes matured
With tea and buttered toast.

TAMING THE PAIN

the drink holding
the pain on a leash
fearful it will escape