Angry torrents and
Dark, confused haze
Make a storm inside his mind
It hurts to think of her
And it pains him to hope
But he does it anyway
Because love is not famous
For being sensible
And so he dreams—
Luscious curls
And a pouting mouth,
Laughing eyes,
And a bright smile
And then he remembers
Then the image is lost
Drowned in bitter realizations
That is she will never be his
That he has disgraced himself
Insulted her, and her family
And he knows
What he needs to fix
And he does
And then the shine of hope,
Glimmers in through the clouds.
0000
About Darcy's reformation...I guess. It has a semblance of a metaphor, therefore, poetry, right?
Reviews apprechiated. )
Becca