| Frozen,that is how I feel. | | | | I evoke social graces,sentiments that may fall |
| At times, | | | | empty,on a perfect stranger's deaf ears. |
| I am still haunted by our flaws,together. | | | | I owed you that much, |
| Some people must take separate roads,travel does | | | | I am the first to say,too little and way too late. |
| not come easy,despite what you thought, | | | | Yet...you never got it,never heard,never dreamed my |
| I truly never blessed it. | | | | dreams,or wanted to. |
| Evenings get cold,sometimes,still,without breezes,and | | | | Who would frame that kind of art? |
| oft times without breathing. | | | | Being cold,takes a long time to recover from. |
| You remember that song I wrote? | | | | Frozen statues in the dark,if I look out past windows, |
| The one about ice on the sidewalk,bleeding | | | | I still can see you. |
| snow,that's just the way I saw you,as bleeding | | | | Frozen,that is how I feel,at times. |
| snow. | | | | I am still haunted by our flaws,together. |
| Yet, you never claimed that kind of ice. | | | | Yet standing still,has given me...wisdom,despite my |
| I write in the afternoons now,no more pretending I | | | | not mending. |
| don't,no longer hiding scraps of paper,on past due | | | | I ask myself often,what was I fleeing to? |
| notes. | | | | If I stay very still,not moving one single bit,and feel |
| No one is perfect,that will always,always be true. | | | | the colors I now paint with? |
| When I'm alone I send out apologies,to passers by,no | | | | I know. |
| matter they don't hear me. | | | | |