Ruffled Feathers
You said happiness comes at a price — that contentment will always carry a cost, then you swiftly tore the tattered tag [ off a passing swallow in sombre flight ] and swallowed your precious pride downing the holier than prescribed part of distortion. Apologise! Apologise! Apology — a word you find as unfamiliar as short skirts and towering black shoes, only once you wore that shapely red dress and blackened leather boots, but I — I kept the evidence, my only evidence: a photograph hidden from scrutiny and sanctimonious chivalry. A photo is all I have left of the love we once had. A memory of something that never was more than someone’s dream [ Whose? Who’s? Hose? ] You said to give you something to believe in, something that would change Tomorrow — I cannot … … continue that lie — that I believe there will be a Tomorrow… a morrow of merriment where maidens dance and knightly courtship just happens as if by heavenly design… Apologise! I willingly apologise for the lack of humility expressed towards the ones in need of acknowledgement. You said happiness comes at a price but you kept the tag too close to heart and the feathers you ruffled — too far apart.
