Her Beauty Was Her Weapon

Looking back .  .  .  .   at my troubled life.  I can see many things I did wrong

Said wrong too often for no good reason

‘Til I die will I rue the words I spoke in haste in my silly anger

Looking back .  .  .  .

I’m guilty of chasing too many prophecies and too many hollow dreams

And the chase swallowed my youth and with it, my arrogant pride

Seemed my buccaneer days would last forever – they didn’t

Flung words like arrows and hurt the ones who once loved me

Her beauty was her weapon

I was captured and raptured and would spend the hour devouring her every inflection and every turn of her lips and the  light of her eyes. 

Her love injured me – eventually

So by it came now to stand vexed at every fork hence

Whence comes that thousand yard stare and yet nothing is seen

Wish I could have a re-do and reconcile my spirit and come to breathe again

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