The Significance of a Sunday

I saw your eyes swallowed whole by another’s;

His hands hovering, hiding in the space of separation,

But we all can see his motive, his preparation;

I can read your hearts, you gaze and smile as lovers.

Finally I’ve reached where the lies can end;

I no longer hear the half-hearted invitations,

The ex post facto congratulations.

You can stop now, you don’t have to pretend. 

And maybe I can’t play guitar so well,

But for all that must I bask in hell?

Does what once mattered more than all

Really have to suffer so far a fall?

Well, who the hell really cares at all?

I know that in the end I’m just too small.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s