Nothing Of Dire Consequence Unfotunately Poem by Sakura Tomoko

four years
and four minutes past
half the hour and what do you
get the past is a bandage
as it was woven as time passed
be it your eyes grey
or my heart timid that would thrust
beauty out of reach,
with an obstacle so far rounded,
that in the end I
alone and you unaware forever
seperate, for as edges round
they curve away from home and
the beauty I pined once for and
once shunned, the nature of cowardice
is not rewarding, nor is the fruits of
its procrastination