Remorse

For all those years you sat in pose,
your love endured to meet my art.
My muse you were, I saw no rose,
Just shapes in heart.

Your curves that drive my mind to paint,
To capture all the eye can see..
To hang on walls without a taint,
In joyful glee.

The names I use are not your own,
As homage is not paid to you.
The seeds of pain that I have sown,
Unjust and true.

My brush betrayed my muse and heart,
The longing lost in ev'ry stroke
The cold inside, controls my art,
I should revoke?.

My muse is sullied with my ink,
The hurt has gone beyond her care.
I wish I had the time to think,
My soul lay bare.

Just once I want to say three words

I am sorry.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.