There’s tragedy and travesty
and very few colors between.
There’s remorse and recourse
and a door left partway open.
There’s moonlight and midnight
and youthful independence laid bare.
There’s forgiving and forgetting
and the coin’s edge as witness.
There’s correction and calculation
and all the excuses I’ve committed to memory.
Theres ignorance and innocence
and more than a few lost turtle shells.
There’s ambition and confession
and a vague wall of syntax.
There’s eloquence and elegance
and then there’s this.