Your smile has no illumination,
no dancing twinkle draws the eyes.
What lies will you tell today, when someone
asks if everything is okay?
Your smile has no illumination,
no dancing twinkle draws the eyes.
What lies will you tell today, when someone
asks if everything is okay?
I expected
in my youth
a natural ending.
You railed against presumption.
Never!
Always!
Hyperbole spun us out,
Now our orbits can’t intersect.
I was okay with that,
until I wasn’t.
We’re not supposed to break promises,
even irrelevant ones.
Curse nostalgia.
He didn’t say it.
Not on the day
or the day after, when he used to remember.
No more embers. glowing.
Not hanging on the threads anymore, I just realized.
How strange when forever
truly dies.
We need to be respectful
of tender psyches, mental illness,
all the agonies of existence.
We need to be respectful
of our own tenderness
and pained existence.
When being gentle of their tender troubles,
makes aches worse for ourselves,
who needs to respect whom?
Draw battle lines,
or at least find a bastion
against cries
calling you to your destruction,
dragging you to drown in the moat of their fragility.
Be respectful of your own precious sanity.
Here is the place,
soft amber light
warm hands
cool breeze.
Here is the circle,
feel the connection
crackling completeness
arms tight,
hearts warm.
Here is love,
wrapped around you,
holding you up,
sending you strength.
Here is peace.
Here is hope.
Here is now.
.
.
For Londa.