The Beholder
Beauty was in the eye of the beholder, I told her and I was the shoulder for
her to lean on.
Yet she would accuse me of lies and this ripped into the ties of all that made
us one.
Her incessant chides took my pride and all that was me was left behind.
Seven tenacious years my pleas of please and tears and sighs were all just tossed aside.
Now it is I who has drawn the line, tired of this prolonged ride.
The eyes of the beholder and the shoulder she leaned on are all but gone, tied to the I
instead of eye.
Copyright © J Clinton Smith | Year Posted 2010
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