Of all the things my tongue has summoned up the strength to speak,
These words are weighted heaviest, sincerest, most complete.
They are the things the heart knows most are faulted to a tear:
A simple "I forgive you," whispered softly through the ear,
A minor "I don't mind a bit," an easy "It's your call,"
And finally, through the whole of it, "I loved you none through all."
And there is where sincerity must finally meet its years.
If only she once used her eyes and looked beyond her fears,
The single greatest worry ever born among that sea
She'd find among the lattermost: a host of treachery.
A lie it is, to loose her heart from any forward guilt,
And even in so doing must some other blood be spilt.
She's safe at least, and that is all I've ever dared to dream;
Saved from doubt, saved from guilt, saved
From herself, and
Saved
From
Me.
6/14/05