it feels the way you think it ought to sting, perhaps just enough to make a boy a man.
and when the throbbing red pales into dullest gray--then may we know, dawn brings another day
i didn't write this poem just to make you cry...in fact i hope you never know it was to you.
it would have been a love song if Love hadn't been so dry, but i can't fault your heart for telling you the truth.
i'm wishing things were different when i know they're but the same--still i promise, as you asked me: i'll not whisper your name
well i can stand here for another thousand years;
and we can cry here another thousand tears.
nothing changes, nothing's new, yet
tomorrow is another day, another way to pose the question...
December 2004
