a young lover

recall what she said,
my heart you have broken,
into uncollectable pieces,
in a sad breakup letter,
she wrote.
but i was young to get,
that four letters meant life,
pain and tear,
the dedications as she signed out,
too big to understand.
she talked of the moon,
the crescent she would like to sit
on,
at the edge and hear me play,
love tunes on my grand guitar,
and i replied it was cold,
to sit on in the night,
of owls and bats and masked
men.
all i did but killed her fantasy,
a world she had built,
from soaps and fairytales,
while i lived in reality,
where nature went to nationalge
o,
and bombs blew on aljazeera,
now years late i see it,
the love she had in heart,
and the world she had in mind,
a young love i did kill,
but who was i but a young heart!
©skillz 2011