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2004-04-20 - Genarrative

she couldn't keep being who she was to me

what she was to me wasn't real

she couldn't be believin' what it does to me

because what was to be she couldn't feel

and I have to take part of the blame

even though I would have never done the same

because I swore that I would always be her man

when we took our marriage vows and made a stand

to be true to every word of God's command

and inherit all the blessings of the land

but...

she couldn't be true to what she didn't see

as long as it was me who told her to be free

she couldn't agree to my veracity

and my loquacity was an impasse, you see

too many words too quickly stated

too many wounds went unabated

too much hurt grew roots in dirt

and springing up with such growth spurts

and all the while I did the deed

worked to buy the things we'd need

woke at night to intercede

supplicate, put forth to plead

ranted like shoemaker keed...

the distance at high rates of speed

seemed to grow like some wild weed

many were defiled by greed

undercover sores that bleed

no one to assess the need

no healing diagnostic breed

no eyes to see beyond the tweed

and gently by the wayside lead

no agent, team or living creed

just smoking flax and bruising reed

broken, crushed, snuffed-out and treed

cursed, forsaken, kicked and kneed

elbowed, taken like a steed

out to pasture, finally freed

from the yoke of binding bead

to garden skillfully this seed

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