Voices inside his head,
sometimes memories,
True, yet deceptive,
futile, sometimes,
flowed as the tides,
on a full moon night
and the shore of her eyes
flooded, broke the gates
of his heart, But,
He never cried, till once,
When her eyes rained
like the monsoons, and
he realized the meaningless
words of his, broke her,
for futile reasons,
He cried. This time not the
pillows, but wet the field
he sat on.

He wanted her to know,
from deep within, that
He Was Sorry...