Tabula Rasa

The blemishes that I have never left
do not deny me my rejection,
For to no end, of love am I bereft
and no choice I make is but reflection.
The tailspin through the augur peace
I've traveled seeking rest.
None have given me the least
translation, no such kind gest.
Yet it must be for a reason that I lay
my hands upon the slate as clean -
I cannot fathom a further price to pay
but for my fears to merely seem.