He knew that he couldn't honor how he had lived
As if to compare it all with such a gloriously attractive tale.

No saga of rainbow showered afternoon daydreams,
Green lawn caricatures, or water sprinkler laziness.

But rather, a tale that the truth in life, a dark rain cloud,
Was full of emotional and motional wordiness.

Such scripture, which passed for abuse, and neglect,
Tearful, and fearfulness, in light was only mental anguish.

He'd suffered not any of the clawed creature's wounds,
Nor callused laboring, but ten fold in the hearth of love.

And such was his approach to situations he feared with loss.
An open-ended friendship with countenance for being.

Yet how he feared the thunderstorm maddened insanity that was.
And the sprinkler rainbow childhood story that was not.

If ever there should be a cheerful tale to erase the rainy clouds,
How on Earth would he ever find the love so pure as such?

For those that sought their sunny days all hid away from souls
Who had rain in their footsteps and dark clouds over head.

At the end he could be no more than a friend to her,
And she, no more, no less, and for the very most, the same.