She cries a bit too little, <br />I feel a bit too late. <br />I'll chalk it up to just bad luck, <br />for no belief in fate. <br />If she weren't born of pretty, <br />and I weren't born of sin. <br />I stumble pass her ugliness, <br />to never sin again. <br />In heat between the liars, <br />that lights our way to hell. <br />I know of a but a single fate, <br />that only death will tell. <br />This right of wrong, <br />upon my slate. <br />She cries a bit too little, <br />I feel and too late...<br /><br />saint cynosure ( Ken Bennight )<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-dont-know-what/
