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Ellen Peterson Poem
And I know that in the end,
I'll be screaming about how you never knew me.
The tears will run, and my voice will quickly fade.
But don't you believe me? I'm strictly self made.
You'll bring all past arguments into play;
You never seem to run out of things to say.
I'll run down the path, so familiar to the mind.
I'll take one last glance back, and I'll leave you behind.
You were never mine, and I certainly wasn't yours.
But I'll tell you I love you at least one time more.
Dear boy, dear child,
You always were blind to blasphemy.
Copyright © Ellen Peterson | Year Posted 2008
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