The morning after
That night with you I was exhausted
and no good for you, for love, for anything
in my irritability that could not stop
just being worn out good for nothing,
but my love was there still aching
in my heart and bleeding desperately,
calling for you, longing for you urgently
to come and help me in my agony
of bitterness, delusion and remorse
for all that life of mine that failed
and turned me into just a miserable beggar.
Sorry, Madame, and I beg your pardon
that I was not good enough for you,
but still I love you more than ever,
even though I am the only one convinced of that.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
Read 491 times
Written on 2007-06-26 at 10:00
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