Pardon Me...
Pardon Me
by John Loreth
Written: April 5, 2000 – April 11, 2000
Pardon Me . . .
~ I ~
Pardon me
for feeling the way I do.
Maybe I’ve just finally realized
what you’re doing to me?
Maybe I’m finished with you?
Maybe it’s time I let you go?
Written: April 5, 2000
Pardon Me . . .
~ II ~
Pardon me
if I’m quiet for a minute.
Sometimes I just like to be alone
and stare at the ceiling for hours
slowly letting one thought run to another
in a confusing jumble
of emotion—
not one clear or explainable.
Written: April 5, 2000
Pardon Me . . .
~ III ~
Pardon me
for still being two.
What kind of person am I,
telling you I love you
when I’m not completely sure?
You shattered me,
but still I can’t turn and walk away,
leaving you at the mercy of your demons.
Thoughts of seeing you lying limp
or in the arms of another
still leave me devastated.
You love not one man, but two—
one of pain and disgust
and one of love and forgiveness.
And still the battle for clarity rages.
Baby, I am so sorry,
I am still ripped in two.
Written: April 5, 2000
Pardon Me . . .
~ IV ~
Pardon me
for thinking you were something you’re not.
I thought you were my angel,
that we could slip away again
to an Eden of minds creation
but now I wish I never would have followed you there.
My queen danced with another,
left me shattered
and alone amongst the peasants.
I’m through with you.
I’ve burned the map to our phony paradise.
I will dream of it no more.
Written: April 5, 2000
Pardon Me . . .
~ V ~
Pardon me
for standing up for what I believe.
What gives you the right
to side with the unenlightened
and limit what took me so long to learn?
What gives you the right
to treat me like a child
and not the man I am so grudgingly becoming?
You are NOT my master,
NOT my father,
just take me safely home.
Written: April 5, 2000
Pardon Me . . .
~ VI ~
Pardon me
if I crave a little every now and again.
Everyone needs a release—
an escape from all their pain.
Just leave me alone
when I seek shelter from darkness
and all my armor is striped away,
I am finally being honest about what I feel.
Don’t comfort me.
Don’t tell me you care when you don’t.
Your apathy is what me brought to this.
Written: April 5, 2000
Pardon Me . . .
~ VII ~
Pardon me
for seeing the semi,
but not being able to get out of its way.
Like a prophet
I see the future—
you’ll not forsake me
and I’ll not abandon you,
but an agreement made,
sends me crashing to Earth.
No worries about me though;
I can take care of myself.
I only want to see you find in him
the happiness I wish you knew.
Please, Michael,
show my goddess the way to Heaven.
Written: April 5, 2000
Pardon Me . . .
~ VIII ~
Pardon me,
but I don’t believe your lies.
You’ve got me all wrong.
When did I ever show you
I’m anything other than I appear?
I’m not intelligent,
not angelic,
not talented.
Don’t tell me things I know in my heart aren’t true.
Written: April 6, 2000
Pardon Me . . .
~ IX ~
Pardon me
if I walk out of your life.
You whisper vindictively
all the things I hate to hear,
then marvel at my grief
as you try to repair your damage.
I’m tired of you.
Next time you’re lost,
I won’t bother to find you.
Written: April 6, 2000
Pardon Me . . .
~ X ~
Pardon me
for my putrid acts—
The little games I didn’t start,
but nor did I finish.
I was only a player in our triangle.
My hands drifting underwater
and my lips caressing yours.
I repent daily,
“please take these memories away”.
But still no answer comes from the lifeless sky.
Those nights and those days
are played again and again;
I must live forever in their grasp—
Fitting punishment for vial transgressions.
Written: April 7, 2000
Pardon Me . . .
~ XI ~
Pardon me
for being a pathetic mess.
just look at me—
afraid to loose what little I have left,
but too scared to really admit its meaning.
I was scared to be vulnerable,
so I learned to be strong
sacrificing that small boy
upon the old, bloody alter
of so many men before me.
I burned his remains
feeling no remorse
as I watched the wind carried him away.
“I had to do it,” I told myself.
“I am too frail to live as he lived.
The boy had to die.”
I buried his memory,
all compassion lost forever beneath a cement exterior.
What gives me the right to sob silently in your arms
and complain about how cold I’ve become?
What gives me the right to blame it all on Her;
I took him to that place where the over grown forest cleared;
I laid him upon the cold granite,
looked him in his innocent eyes
and told him everything would be okay;
and I killed him.
and watched silently as the life flowed from him,
his innocent eyes closed forever.
Now I have live with what I’ve done
and the pathetic mess I’ve become.
Written: April 8, 2000
Pardon Me . . .
~ XII ~
Pardon me
for trapping my words.
Always caught behind my teeth,
they searched for liberation elsewhere—
traveling down my arm,
freedom brought by wood and lead.
They’d pour from me
and slouch and slant
between narrow blue lines.
They tip-toe by guards
only to be confined again.
Form has become a cage;
blue lines now bars.
They’ve given up—
too futile to escape from one entrapment
only to find another.
They’d cower in the darkness of my soul
and wait for freedom.
And they’ll have it.
My self-imposed confinement lifted.
Pardon me,
but with these last words,
I’m through.
Written: April 11, 2000