In The Lines Poem by Keith Shorrocks Johnson

Amid the snares that wording pitfalls set,
A no-mans-land of mined grandiloquence,
Clumsily - at the tripwire of regret,
I'm caught by flares of hurt and misread sense.

It almost seems you want to take offence.
Understand I count my life to you a debt
That I would gladly die in recompense,
In freedom from the flack's reproaching threat

In true-belief that we are one and hence
That you should grant me leave at the outset
To be misunderstood and make poor sense
But keep your love and caring nonetheless.

I'm heartbroken you so easily forget
The absence of reserves in my defence.