Is it wrong to feel sorry
About a circumstance
And a split decision,
Yet not regret it
In the slightest?
I could still see
The slump in his eyes,
The blue tinge
Creeping over his
Expression, trying
To hide it as
He smiled through
The rest of the night.
I will always feel bad
For being the cause
of that—and I’m not sure
If it makes it harder
Or only more reassuring,
Feeling this resolute
Peace that it was Right,
That it had to happen.

She spoke as if she wasn’t sure
If the words formed by her lips
Were really hers—only uncertainties,
Fairies flitting convoluted ideas
Through her mind’s eye.
Was it too much to say?
Did she truly want to give all
The pieces of herself away? 

It was too much. . .
They would not understand. . .
Dark lashes framing tired eyes,
Life was harder than she thought.
What if she wasn’t the unwavering light
She was supposed to be?
So many insecurities,
Yet none so powerful
As the red-limned thought
That Jesus would not know her,
And she would fall into the pits--
Welcome only to darkness
And the cold, cold smiles
Of the Enemies who succeeded.