Words Much Like Poetry
i did not mean to be silent for so long.
nor did i mean to gather my self-pity
and lay it about me,
a moat to the castle of my heart.
i did not think of the betrayal my silence would be
to those who had dedicatedly constructed
majestic tower rooms, placed at loving heights,
distinctly for my solace,
if ever i had need of them.
but, know also,
that i did not wish to place a strain
upon the unstinting love that had been proffered me,
friendships nurtured through years
that exist only in memory,
by tendering the account of my trials
as they occurred.
i thought my tragedies best told in the sullen aftermath,
when the sound of their relation
would have come across as nothing more than muted noises
to ears that were ringing
with the livid memories of my misery.
it is only in retrospect that the damage
my eager silence might have caused—
distance as insurmountable as a great wall
unbroken by any form of gate or entrance—
becomes as radiant as a crystal palace
which stands luminous in the light of certain, unavoidable truths.
i cannot be sure that apology is enough.
nor can i be sure of the worth of that regret,
i am naught but a flawed animal,
fallible and comforted by the customs that define me.
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