you are a materialist
and he was a realist
I had the heart of an artist
but the hands of a guitarist
we compared callouses in those days
he said we just worked in different ways.
I liked to wait 'till no one was around
and sing softly for the ground
you used to laugh when you saw me
and we smiled where he couldn't see
he wanted to control everything.
I forgot how to sing
you went away when I pulled you
and I pushed him aside to see where you flew
but I wasn't used to searching sky
I sent him away
so he wouldn't see me cry
you don't write anymore
and he tossed everything askew.
I like to sit in silence and think of you
but I stopped looking at the floor
I wish you would come home.
I wish you'd give me something to sing for.
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oh, the boys in my life.
they are always the same.
also, rhymes are fun.
rainbow write;; a writer's guild.
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