Nearly two years inked in ages
see a return to my pen's ways,
engraved in meaning past pages
of methods to sing or pass days.
In sadness I see major truth,
of misery and how it reigned
in hours that had stolen youth,
replaced intent and on it, rained.
I do not mean to wrench pity,
nor claim my ways worse than others.
I seek to reflect my city
destructing by my past lovers.
Pure intent surfaced all action
for every heart I vowed to sway.
Each attempt prompted reaction,
that ended in love burned away.
I sit here with a chance to change
role of my altruistic heart,
and appropriately arrange
my vowels unbroken from the start.
But what good would come to transform
the very ways I take pride in?
To know sunshine precedes each storm
and prompted love reveals no sin.