Relationship

The days had staggered slowly on,
and dragged dark memories,
of moments long forgotten;
of dreams which still might be.
The pen had scrawled across the page,
of mind's erratic hopes,
that there could be deliverance;
there was no need to grow.
But huddled in the wings of time,
the past could peer within,
and whisper bitter, costumed truth;
reality played grim.
Until the curtains would be drawn,
and you had called an end,
to face the facts of who you were;
then nothing could begin.
In taking sips from life's deep cup,
and reading scattered leaves,
you found that it was you, not I,
who brought to birth such grief.