Hard to Look At....

This is me trying to make rhyming poem.

Come, let's see the fall.
See how the masses think their love is without flaw?
Holding hands everywhere, the park, the restaurants, the mall.
Until one day something cripples their "love" into a crawl.
In the end the lovers part ways and have a bawl.

I see my friend's love come to an end.
Wishing there was blessing I can send.
It's hard to look at....
Alone in the dark he sat.
The was scene was familiar.

An angel hath told me his love, and the end of it.

"Little things used to mean so much to Shelly - I used to think they were kind of trivial. Believe me, nothing is trivial." - Eric Draven.

This is me giving up on rhyming. When I rhyme it's cheesy.

It makes me wonder if things would have been different, if I had payed attention to the small things?
Maybe she would have stayed.
Maybe she was right, we had too many different interests.
She loved cloths, I loved battle.
She loved materialism, I loved spiritualism.
Hers was making love and vanity.
Mine was piety and purity.
She saw the finer details of life, I saw the whole picture.
She wanted physical gratification, I wanted spiritual.
In the end, I didn't meet her needs.
I never returned what she wanted to give me.
My fault.

Why the hell am I bringing this up again?