(for Lori)
I know pretending will not last forever
I know eating a lion is not all it’s cracked up to be
I know when the snow arrives it’s only temporary.
I’m not convinced I have ever really been in love
I’m not entirely certain I’m really that good a man
I’m not sure being a romantic is all that romantic.
Perhaps I’m more scapegoat than lamb
Perhaps I’m more bronze than nickel
Perhaps I’m not all that idealistic.
My wherewithal got up and went
My willpower willed out of existence by an unwillingness to adapt
My gut instincts ended up in the gutter next to my whitewashed dreams.
Still I possess something resembling hope
Still I believe in something or someone that still believes in me
In the still of the night our shadows converge in a back alley of our own creation.
Charles Cicirella
November 24, 2008 11:36 PM
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