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edward palmquist

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mutilated canvas

2007

I’ve been trying to put into words
these things I must tell you.
I can’t just keep ignoring your questioning eyes.
The truth
These words are not for you
They never were.
I never could find the means to articulate
my feelings for you.
Even now my words to you are vague
like the memories I hold of you.
My tongue is inspired by another.
It was she who engendered
this chain of introspection.
You probably don’t know her
if not by fleeting glance as you passed her in the hallway.
Like me, I’m sure you would have never guessed
that she would grow to be my life-blood.
It’s not that I don’t care about you
in truth I care too much.
But as in the past
the pain I try to prevent is overshadowed by
the pain I in turn cause.
I’m sorry for the silence
I’m sorry for the loneliness
I’m sorry for these tears you shed that I can never dry
I’m sorry for the questions left
I’m sorry for the answers never quite clear
I’m sorry that I’ve moved on
I’m sorry that as I paint this beautiful picture for her
I leave you with the mutilated canvas
for which I too once pined.
I’m sorry I can never make you understand
I’m sorry that I let go.

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