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Guilty Soliloquy
I may be a craftsman with my hands,
and wordsmith with poetry and prose,
but so far as emotions are concerned,
I may as well nail wood into the sands,
for the door to pain will never close,
regret's sorrow is always returned.
Love may be the gift from above,
but hindsight is Satan's curse,
Cupid's arrow straight to the heart,
out of your back and into the dove,
drowning sorrows and emptying purse,
because you are now forever apart.
Guilt and self pity not enough,
the strain of pain your life,
self designed to live eternally,
designated solitude, attitude gruff,
swirling blood red tide, deserved strife,
singing a dark historical soliloquy.
Copyright © Calliope 2001
