A Thought Beyond Your Dot

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Annoying glitch,
A pestering itch,
the one that spreads - that sort,
Was your secret lie,
That did not die
in walls your mind had wrought.

Ignorant waste,
Spilled in haste,
On your fabric made a blot.
But one mistake
Could not so break
your threads of sincere thought:

You caught yourself
And brought yourself
Confessed yourself distraught.
But I wish
you had once taught yourself
To think beyond your dot...

In your selfish guilt
you walked away
When I forgave - forgot.
You hid yourself
You slid yourself
When your voice I sought.

I wish
you had once taught yourself
To think beyond your dot.