There, in the parlor, I knew
This love would not last
If that’s what you could call it
But I did not have the courage
To speak up –

I could’ve said something
Been more attentive to the Voice
Inside me – but I was naïve
And unaware, following rules
Not even I could believe.

Thus the cruel stage was formed
Upon a barren set of lonely
Scenes, a pauper’s place,
A remnant of what could have been

For this I cannot say how
Sorry I am for deceiving you
If there’s any consolation at all
Know that I pay a heavy price
Inside my own despair of loneliness
And the deserted silence of time.

© K. James Ribble