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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 � � |