The Thought Unsaid

Oh, cruel and wretched world!
If thou wilt let me be swallowed by a lion,
or drowned by a snail.
I shall surely be blessed than to hear the thing I loath most of all.
Force me to listen to a depressing song,
or be mentally killed.
Anything would be better,
than to give an ear to the thing which my friend is so delighted to share.
Allow me to run away,
or plug my ears.
For the thing I do not wish to hear,
no matter how true,
is a hope wanted but yet unclear.

Is it worth it?
To accept the words unheard, unsaid.
Is it safe to think,
about things that wish to be hid?
If the answer is no let me scamper away from my friend,
whose wish to speak is so strong,
that I'm frightened that it might break if sought after once again.

Shall I think it?
Am I protected,
Oh cruel and wretched world?
Decide for me before it's too late,
to stop what is about to happen.
Close the man's mouth,
and hold it tight.
For I would rather it to be hidden,
than shoved out in plain sight.

*Epilogue*

The word is out,
the phrase is revealed.
No time to worry,
about the announcement just said.
My protection is gone,
and the awkwardness beings.
Gone is the time where I wish my ears were clean,
from the uncomfortable blend.
He has accepted it,
for the sake of our two souls.
Blessed be him,
my star,
my man.

The time has come,
for me to accept that which has been done.
Shall I be strong enough?
To face the word spoken by a friend.

Thoughts turn back to the words that were said,
concerning the twos souls of a man and woman.
Shall he truly be Romeo?
And I his Juliet?
Blessed cruel world
let it not be so!
The words said by a friend,
should be dead.
The names given should die,
and our soon felt sorrow beguiled.

The words pronounced will bring grief and pain,
saith a voice in the back of my head.
It has not happened,
I reply back at it.
I know it's coming just not yet.

Tears

Tear drops are special,
They are drops of joy or remorse.
Many have spilt from my eyes the past months,
soaking my cheeks.
All is fine,
I force myself to say,
All is well.
What I hear inside is another story,
As my sould contemplates its goal.
Things have happened that I am unsure of.
What to say.
What to do.
Grasping a tissue in one hand,
And the box in the other,
I let myself spill over the problems.
Though I can not change them myself,
At least I can put myself to rest by looking at them.