Years spent in Question

You are a dream, a lonesome whisper I speak only to myself- usually

You are nothing more than air, for anything else found there can only wreak of sorrow, torment-usually

You are a heaviness of heart I cannot remove, nor want to, I need to- but cannot

I found myself up in a tree talking to this birch about how I need to let go- but cannot

I need to forget about holding on, and bracing for this fall-from grace?

what distance can provide in spacial and in time for me- from grace?

we both know you’ll break my heart, why not jump in- go, start

we both feel the distance slackening this golden rope- go, start

you can no more tightrope walk with your knees- than I

You can no more give warmth to me- than I

I said my piece, I can say no more,

that will give truth or meaning to what I’m feeling

Is it me that’s wrong, that I wonder at?

to trust one that has such pain in store

for surely she’d had stores of it before.

I said my piece, you know where I stand

and yet I question your love

should I prepare myself for your passion

or for your heart’s reprimand?

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