by Eric Y. Theriault

You always had,
the most precious of eyes,
as you could see,
right through me.
You always knew,
without my words,
and you always knew,
whichever road I should follow,
I should see the greatest success.
You always spoke,
so high of me,
that I could never repay.

Now I travel alone,
many secrets left untold,
and I know which road
you wish me to take,
and I know which road
I should take,
But I fear that I am not ready,
and that I will,
perhaps for the first time in your eyes,
fail so miserably.
Reason I could never explain,
But part of my secrets I keep from you,
are my very own dreams,
and I hope your heart is constant,
and your words only encourage my dreams,
I hope to never fail you,
but I cannot promise,
as I am stupid,
and I have nothing,
and all you see is false,
and all you believe of me
is really what you want to believe.
and is really nothing like me,
and though I succeed in your eyes,
I will never succeed in mine.