“If” is not a blade of grass

I guess there’s something wrong in me,

Some distorted bit, an ugly flaw

That bites both you and painfully me

In different ways, a bit you’ve caught

And I have not, that’s my fault

I’m afraid. The blindness of a lover

Who has missed the glaring signs to halt,

I see them now, too late, and you’ve another

Way of living set in your mind.

I can’t blame you, I can only sit

And wonder if I’d been in time

Would fate have changed that little bit?

But bits and ifs are not enough

To turn you back to feeling love.

If I was only a wide pine tree

With needles jutting from my finger tips

I could stab myself and remove from me

This terrible, ugly, frightening bit.

I could grow new bark to heal the wound

That flames now from my chest

Where once a heart like a flower bloomed

Out of sorrow and loneliness.

But I have neither limb nor bough

That can stiffly stand your leaving

I have no roots that I swiftly grow

To seal this gap that’s bleeding.

I’m just a simple man, it seems

Who burnt his wood to light his dreams

If I was but a crow that sounds

Harsh and bitter and brooding life

There would be no heartless flame around

To ponder you and crave your like

A blind man must crave his sight,

I would never had you

Near me, touching here, and there, a knife

Cutting with pleasure, cutting me through.

But I am not a crow that caws

Or a bird that can fly away,

I’m hooked upon your feline claws

With words not wings to sway.

But you who once had a softer side

Have hardened into another’s bride.

If I was but the yellow sky

Glowing with a pre-dawn light

Growing into an ocean wide

Of love and warm and smiles bright,

Maybe that would change that mind

Which thinks long thoughts with short replies,

Maybe I could scorch and blind
and melt the frosting from your eyes.

But I am only a flickering flame,
a short match’s light that forever longs
for you to help me ease the pain

That comes with being forever wrong.

But the flame that flickers learns to die

Without much warmth, without much pride.

And I am, too, the sprouting grass

Not a lawn, mind you, but a ragged

Bit of green that grows and wiggle past

The granite blocks and crags, it

Doesn’t matter. I’ll still grow

Though yellow with you the light

And part of me will always show

Your passage, your blinding bright.

I am not crushed or greatly damaged

But bent again in my old ways,

Hurt and lonely yet able to manage

A future filled with dull dark days.
For you, my love, are the only ray

Left to raise this humbled blade.