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REMORSE CODE.-by- Matthew F. Blowers III
Remorse code
taps wistfully
only the clock tocks
as she taps her foot
because she's ticked off,
So I stumble through
the rue morgue
rueing all of the words
I could have said
left utterless,
In the stance of repentance
regret poses me like an egret,
shifting from one leg to another
unbalanced by my calm qualm.
She like many women had no
Patience to engage in an argument
Her method of dealing
with her angst would be a
prolonged silent treatment
Which is far worse than any yelling.
Apologies would be apathetic,
contrition would not yield fruition,
in the nation of self condemn
I am at this moment it's soul citizen,
and so I walk with weary steps
to her dissapointed face,
lifting her chin tenderly,
then drying her tears
with a sad smile
and a knowing look
That makes her understand
It was all my fault
and then I set free her sorrow
with a passionate kiss,
that she eagerly embraced
in acknowledgement of my woes
knowing that I was not perfect
but that there are a lot of far more
imperfect men than me.
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By Art~Whimsically YoursRemorse code
taps wistfully
only the clock tocks
as she taps her foot
because she's ticked off,
So I stumble through
the rue morgue
rueing all of the words
I could have said
left utterless,
In the stance of repentance
regret poses me like an egret,
shifting from one leg to another
unbalanced by my calm qualm.
She like many women had no
Patience to engage in an argument
Her method of dealing
with her angst would be a
prolonged silent treatment
Which is far worse than any yelling.
Apologies would be apathetic,
contrition would not yield fruition,
in the nation of self condemn
I am at this moment it's soul citizen,
and so I walk with weary steps
to her dissapointed face,
lifting her chin tenderly,
then drying her tears
with a sad smile
and a knowing look
That makes her understand
It was all my fault
and then I set free her sorrow
with a passionate kiss,
that she eagerly embraced
in acknowledgement of my woes
knowing that I was not perfect
but that there are a lot of far more
imperfect men than me.