Trappings of the divine in silly connotations.
Wrapped up in the essence of broken beauty.
That the torn, angle wafts in winds of, the errant good deliberations.
Quite homely slightly a ruby.
broken because of the returned but unrequited love.
ebony mists in in whitened hues.
oh, she said it back, I rose above.
yet had confusing ebbs of blacks and blues.
note to be found:To her I shall express my remorse.
you expressed your love.
at my speech.
I cried because the game was to hard.
my sorry is because, it should not have mattered.
I accept your definition.
Mother.
maybe I won't seem like such a bastard.
god did not charge me with guilt though.
I charge my self.
with the gulit of misunderstanding.
sorry .
©Pat Connor
P