Confession

I must admit that I have a confession

A secret that lies within my possession

A secret that surely will ease your depression

Listen now at your own discretion

You read about his blind procession

Yes, blind, not dead

As in rather, instead

I take into account your bittersweet progression

And I think what you read left a comely impression

But as I continue, I ask you to restrain your aggression

As weaving words is, quite frankly, my profession

I only wanted you to trust me

But my acting skills were rusty

I had to lie; I could not tell

Listen to this now... does this ring a bell?

"It is not about trust!  Not about that at all!

"I just want an ending where joy might befall!"

And because I could not tell you

This truth that would compel you

I devised a plan

One of my own invention

Because you were too stubborn

To see my true intention

The very one I could not mention

And I know that my tone here has been condescending

Merely because myself I am defending

But the truth, it is said, is always transcending

Through cold months of fear where dread was impending

I know you are hurt, and I know you are mending

After hours of reading that we have been spending

Finally I may surrender pretending

And tell you at last that this was the real ending