Tis the season for remorse. <br />for unforgotten troubles. <br />For Laughable accusations, <br />that have no ground. <br />Increase in volume <br />does not mean <br />Increase in relevence. <br />nor does it maximize the blow. <br />No. That job was done long ago. <br />On the cold, forgotten nights, <br />of a long lost past, <br />that only i seem to remember. <br />But now, my dear <br />Now, the tides have shifted. <br />And the moon set oh so high, <br />in that dazzling, lavender sky, <br />It beckons me home. <br />To a roofless, sleepless slumber <br />where i can run freely, <br />and forget all my troubles. <br />where i can learn to breathe without you <br />where i can learn to forget you. <br />And be my own, Forever.<br /><br />Katherine H. Belle<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/carols-for-the-wicked/
