Angel, I am Listening

All the scenes were explained,
we thought what we meant.
You revisit each corner
and rethink what was meant.
I don’t claim innocence,
but do you understand?
There’s a chord, there’s a note—and you hate,
in your words, in your tone. It’s insane.

Now my words are sinister;
that’s not part of my charm.
That’s an old wound, now a blister
that you hurt on command.
It feels like I keep trying to fix life,
though it was meant to breathe.
There’s a chord, there’s a note in my head;
there’s a word, there’s a tone—and your rage.

Could you say it is over?
Could I say what comes next?
I try not to teach values
that just live in our text.
You’ll hate me forever,
and I do understand.
There’s a chord, there’s a note—and you hate;
there’s a word, there’s a tone. It’s insane.

There’s hope in my mornings,
that’s all I can say.
I found clouds in my eyes—
time to put them away.
I summon my angel;
the command is to be bold.
Now the chord has three notes and a lead;
angel-wise, time has come, wings to breathe.

Angel, I am listening;
should I offer my other cheek?
Worlds go gray from our late blue;
I invite you to come and peek.
Melodies played by my hands
are always drawing you.
The guitar understands;
everyone blames me for that too.
There are demons in our nights,
from dreams that want to be.
Bestow dew of your light
upon everything I see.