Who are my to say whats right
and how dare me to even try.
The blood that trickles from my wound,
is on my sheets,
tears in my eyes.
I try to cast my mind back,
like the trawler casts a hopeful net.
In the search of love and truth,
but all that's left is harsh regrets.
There's sometimes when I wonder:
what if we just never spoke?
I wonder would the love transpire,
I wonder what it would evoke.
See memories have a need for words,
its how we form a view.
But its those words that led us here,
and now I don't have you.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 7:57 AM UTC
Who are my to say whats right
and how dare me to even try.
The blood that trickles from my wound,
is on my sheets,
tears in my eyes.
I try to cast my mind back,
like the trawler casts a hopeful net.
In the search of love and truth,
but all that's left is harsh regrets.
There's sometimes when I wonder:
what if we just never spoke?
I wonder would the love transpire,
I wonder what it would evoke.
See memories have a need for words,
its how we form a view.
But its those words that led us here,
and now I don't have you.
Request permission to use this poem