The wounding of Innocence.

Keep forever,
barefooted in land of old mud,
allow disgrace and stigma to show,
reverse who we are now,
curious of a Spring's flower bud,
wounds of then to flourish,
luxuriate as they burnish.

Invite me to where the daughters smiled,
when looking upon the boys,
and intrigue became fulfilled,
look into my eyes and promise me,
clemency is still in your embrace,
in eternal summer long season,
as old wounds still vilify and poison.

Remember,
our spring time of life was curious,
senseless actions annihilated,
remember,
softer hearts became oblivious,
scars from then, still speak,
reckless thoughts shredded.

Drown me in rains of guilt,
when her tears splashed on cracked mud,
the flower of Spring could only wilt,
remember,
these wounds have her blood.

Hear the Mockingbird sing,
breathe the air of a lost Spring,
she was my everything,
look upon these wounds of deceit,
time offers no reconciling.

Church bells cried in silence,
and doors slammed in my face,
when I dishonored your grace,
feet finding fresh mud to descend,
to contain my penitence,
let these self inflicted wounds,
remind me,
to love truly and never pretend.