If only I had loved him instead of you

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If only I had loved him instead of you:
What all could have been different in me;
I would not have to become someone new,
Every time I hoped you would choose to see
How I looked to gain any affection
From your eyes that never softened on mine,
Or your hands that never sought direction
To touch me and still that moment in time.
If only I could love him. He looks at me
The way a thirsty soul seeks water
And the betrayal of hope that I see
Is of a lamb that knows it’s up for slaughter.
If only your love had been quite like his;
If only I could love him quite like this.

Not Yet

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I shall perhaps forget
Your eyes, your hands, your touch;
I may not remember
These times so very much;

I shall perhaps forget
How you listen as I talk,
The way the your head bends
As we take our midnight walk;

I shall perhaps forget
The things you said at my lips,
Of how your breath lingered,
Or the press of your hips;

I shall perhaps forget
All the strange, hopeful dreams
I saw under the moon,
Born of its silver beams;

I shall perhaps forget
The way you made me laugh,
Of how your eyes twinkled
And broke sadness in half;

I shall perhaps forget
All that was said and done;
As time ticks its stern heart,
They’ll all fade one by one.

For I can’t bear what comes,
If I fail to forget.
There must be a letting go;
But it’s not time, not yet, not yet.

The Singer for the Red King

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When you listen to a moving love song,
It slashes through our hearts and makes them bleed.
It is clearly what the singer wanted:
She knew how it feels in thought and in deed.

Tomorrows are never applicable
Where all silly little hearts are concerned;
We remember all the pain and sadness,
Who remembers a single lesson learned?

Here we go again sauntering to love,
As if he was not the demonic sire,
Who begat, on hope, all misery
And sits on his throne of red, with his crown of fire.

Take us, take us to the kingdom of thorns,
Where red roses grow on just the outskirt.
We don’t remember the lakes of tears,
Besides the twisted roads of rage and hurt.

The entry is free, unmanned are the gates,
But just then, try and find a way out…
Oh, clever is the king, smelling like faith,
We enter within, but can’t exit out.

The singer knows this to be true of all –
She wants her agenda like the Red King!
We are no match for this team – none at all!
We come full circle while we hear her sing.