StanD BY

In the midst of pouring rain...
when the road I've taken never seems to end,
I wonder, will you stand by me?
I guess there are many reasons why you never should.
For I'm sometimes sullen, often shy, acutely sensitive.
Anger often erupts, and I find it hard to give,
then often at times, this life is much to hard to live.
Then there are times when I have nothing to say at all.
               But I will make you laugh,
               And love you quite a bit,
               Share the smiles when you are glad,
               I'll hold you close when you are sad.
But then again, I cry a little almost eveready,
Because I'm more caring than the strangers ever know,
and I wonder, if at times I show my tender side
(the soft and warmest part I hide)
Will you only be mine?

One...
Who far beyond the feebleness of any vow or tie
Will touch the secret place where I am, really I,
To know the pain of lips that plead, the eyes that weep,
Who will not run away upon finding me in the street,
Alone and lying mangled by my quota of defeats,
But will stop and stay,
Give me strength to go on another day,
just love me each and every way.

Will you stand by me?
There are so many reasons why you never should.
I'm often too serious, seldom predictably the same,
Sometimes cold and distant, probably I will never change.
I bluster and brag, seek attention like a child,
I brood and pout, my anger can be wild,
             But I promise I will make you laugh
             And love you quite a bit
             And comfort you when you're defeated,
             Defend you when you're mistreated.
But then again, I shake a little almost everyday
And if, at times, I show my trembling side
(the anxious, fearful part I hide)
I wonder...
Will you only be mine?

One.....
Who, when I fear your closeness, feels me push away,
and stubbornly will stay to share what's left on such a day.
Who, when no one knows my name or calls me on the phone,
When there's no concern for me, what I have or haven't done,
And those I've helped and counted on, have oh so deftly run,
Who, when there's nothing left but me,
Stripped of charm and subtlety,
Will nonetheless remain.