Us... Poem by Robert James Busby

Us
You, chose, not anger.
For you, might lose,
Us.
But it must have been hard,
Not to implode,
At, us.

You chose, to,
Turn the other cheek.
Even though, there wasn't much,
Truth to be found,
Or reason or rhyme.

In truth, we, were,
Quite happy to let you die.
Us.

You, chose, to re group,
And to apologise,
Your way back in,
As if it was, your only option,
The thing to do.

You chose, not to move on,
And, start, anew.
You chose, your key battle grounds,
Like aging, politician,
And altered your views,
To find acquiescence.

And now,
You are mine.
All the time,
Like a penniless, orphan.
Less back bone, than the museum,
Brachiosaurus.

But I do,
Appreciate you.
I feel there's,
Worth in you,
I do.

And perhaps they were harsh,
The cool kids.
The lads.
We all said things,
I wish to keep them in the past.
You know we can't go back.

Us.