Out of My Book

 

We set by ourselves, still looking for company

 

There could have been peace, but that eluded me

 

All I could think of, was what was on your mind

 

You tried to be kind,

 

but I blocked your feelings.

 

Now, senses still reeling, you sit in your quiet room

 

and cry.

 

 

You tried

 

to make me one,

 

but I always hide

 

when there's

 

a glimpse of sun.

 

 

Running along in sunlight meadows

 

your eyes were never more than half-closed:

 

through fluttering lashes, you watched you watching me.

 

I tried to be true

 

to the way that you thought I ought to be

 

but, in spite of all my efforts,

 

I failed.

 

 

 

I tried to make you see

 

but your eyes were blind

 

to all but the bad in me.

 

 

 

 

What do you think I mean

 

when I say that I need you?

 

How am I supposed to seem

 

when we hit another problem and the answers are all torn from my book?

 

 

 

 

Our lives are on paths we just can't control;

 

we can grow closer as we get old....

 

Can you imagine us as we adjust?

 

Can you imagine us

 

getting near eighty;

 

we live more sedately, still hoping our dreams will

 

come true?

 

We'll try to be secure....

 

But I'm of uncertain mind

 

and how can I be sure?

 

how can I be sure?

 

how can I be sure?