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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required How can a love, When it fits like a glove, Go from a quarrel to end? Well, it sometimes unravels When one of you travels, And loneliness seeks out a friend. If I'd only known That you weren't my own, I might have remembered to hold The hours of sand That seeped through my hand, Instead of the glass, ever cold. See, I then believed That my absence was grieved, My return given weight I thought due, Yet I didn't grasp Your needs with a clasp That endeavored our bond to be true. Beleaguered, I left, A house then bereft Of solid endowment below, Those words, in attack, We can never take back, Like arrows set loose from a bow. 'Tis said, when apart, That heart longs for heart, And absence will winnow the fires, But when I returned, The embers that burned, Were guaranteed only to liars. I must now intend That I destined to end, The breath of my proxy, in rage, But the voice of a child At once calmed the wild, And let loose my ire from its cage. I wish I could blame, But I did the same, And sold you on stories divine, Yes, you spun some fables, But were just turning tables, As I set the standard with mine. Now I look back, anon, At the life that is gone ... 'Twas a sad lover's quarrel, though just, But a house built of size On a bedrock of lies, Is a foundation best turned to dust. You see, lies that are lost, Always bring a high cost, And we both kept a share of that quarry, But I hold naught but mirth, And for what it is worth, From the depths of my heart ... I AM sorry. ** TENTH PLACE in the "Lover's Quarrel Poetry Contest", Lewis Reynes, Sponsor **
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