Realize
I remember the first time you lied
to allay your fear of ineptness;
you told me that I oughtn't try
for my lack of finesse and depth.
I realize that things were at stake:
your "prowess," your pride and some other.
It was tougher to pin, but your veneer is thin:
't was the love and respect of your mother.
The motives are merely suspect,
for I can't simply verify any,
but you once were besotted, and purring you lauded
my every line. There were many
lies that I told you, as well:
commending... a generous bit.
It was mostly benign had I chosen "divine"
to describe a new stanza you writ.
Yet, it sometimes seemed magic because
it was you whose hand penned every word,
and my love of it grew for the buzz
that you got just by striking a chord
'cause in truth, discord lives in your blood;
it rules how you write and the way that you live,
and the curious way that you love,
and your custom of taking with nothing to give...
but that's an aside. It was obvious,
but typical, typical me:
too naive, too frightened and modest
to know that you lied through your teeth.
Despite practise, performance and even
recording yourself for the fans
you hoped to accrue... let's be honest,
your best was still awfully wan.
Had sooner you stepped from the altar
and stripped yourself clean of intent,
released from the fear that you'd falter,
you may have achieved some ascent.
Still you may, but now everything's hidden.
I've suspensions about that, as well.
But whatever the reason, I realized your lie,
and I wonder if you ever will.
Copyright © Julian Garretti | Year Posted 2018
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