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Poem

It wasn’t by your hand, no fault of yours,
And yet it happened as it was foretold.
You learned to hate, and fate’s wide open doors
For you, were for a hidden secret sold.
 
It’s not the evil there that you despise,
But good in me you’ll never understand.
You never feared the secret, or the lies,
But living truth that you could not get at.
 
It isn’t light, nor is it dark you see
That causes so your blue eyes now to stray.
The fickle fates and this low prophecy
Are what’s causing them to slip my way.
 
You think you hate me, but what you don’t know
Is that you hate the secret you still hide.
The secret that you haven’t yet exposed,
Unleashed, will soothe your hatred and your pride.
 
One day again, we tragic enemies,
Those former friends, though they will not converse,
Will meet, though neither runs and neither flees,
And they will watch as old roles will reverse.
 
You think you hate my sins, though old and past,
But what you hate is not the thing I did.
You hate that when I freed the words at last,
You lost your own; your secrets still are hid.
 
I never wanted you, but what you had,
Not you to keep, but you, somehow, to be,
And that is why your fate now drives you mad,
For now all that you want in life is me.
 
Though you wished you’d never have to hate,
You hate, and hating makes you want to scream.
The fault is mine; I doomed you to that fate,
And as you sleep, it’s still of me you dream.

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