Apology

What is an apology? Just words

Words spoken in coated thick in regret

Maybe sorrow, maybe sadness, maybe sarcasm.

Words that hesitate

To slowly

Drop off

The

Tongue

As honey would.

They're golden too.

But are they sweet? That is not for me to say, but for you.

What do they taste like, dear girl?

Do you accept them with silver spoon,

Drizzle them upon your feelings and consume?

Forget, forgive? Go on to live?

For they have covered my mind in dread

And sat unsaid for far too long.

But like all good honey, an apology must ferment.

And like all good honey, an apology makes cavities.

In the mind, in the soul, in the heart.

But never the teeth.

It is always a pleasure to bring the syllables out

But never one to see them received.

And as I contemplate what I have done,

I hope that my honey has fermented long

And is pleasing to your pallet

Because I feel that I have done wrong.

But I know not how your buds arrange

To taste that of which I am about to say

So please, dear girl, if you would please

Take a minute, hear bee's food, and stay.

For I have missed you in my life

Though you stayed far distant from me

And to talk with you once again

Fills my hole-ridden soul with glee.

Shoving Knives In

Walking my way down a straight corridor,

I spied a view that I had never seen before.

It was on a face which I knew too well

It was sitting, drooping, born from hell.

Upon the mask was a look of fear

Combined with surprise at my being there

As if in another situation we had been.

She seemed to be saying I was shoving knives in.

First reactions are always the truth

Because emotions are wild in their youth

As they age, they can all be guised

Behind fake smiles and averted eyes.

Though your blades fell heavy on me too,

I'm sorry, dear girl, that I've hurt you.

Words to a Night Owl

The night owl, in the tree, cooing softly

To the moon? To the stars? "Who? Who? You?"

Yes, night owl, it is you that I see:

Golden beak, glowing eyes, as you flew.

Oh night owl, words succinct, why do we

Try to give such a feeling imperfect words?

With a grace unmatched, you fly so free

With your solitude, you stir me, bird.

Which brings me to a matter of heart

When asked why do I try to describe

The emotion I feel when I start

To set eyes upon your person, alive.

I must end with a word on the truth of these words.

They degrade. Too much beauty for such wretched herds.