May 3, 1977

Age: 19

His Point of View

Little blonde girl
with eyes of brown,
Why do you wear that thorny crown?
Why do your eyes brim with tears?
Why? Do you echo the pain of your years?

Just hear my words -
wait 'till I'm through.
Sit there and hear
my point of view...

The summer breeze is calling me
to a far-off field and land.
I must follow its calling -
I cannot take your hand.

You would not be a burden,
but could hinder my quest
for a brighter tomorrow.
I just cannot rest.

Promises may be broken
like a glass window pane,
shattering and cracking -
letting in the rain.

The words we spoke weren't words in the wind.
You were my love.
You were my friend.

I gave you no promises
to attach to your heart:
commitments are like scissors,
slicing hearts apart.

We were pieces of the universe,
interrupting space and time -
spending moments of our lifetimes
in toasts of fruited-wine.

But, like the sweetness of the wine
that slowly warms our throats,
the taste may be too sweet
to make another toast.

So, I'll leave the taste behind -
for when we meet anew -
the memory of the sweet,
will bring me back to you.


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