on my knees
tears and pleas
in a quiet room
in a vacuum
my sobs unheard
but for a bird
the one that's hidden
where love's forbidden
I crumble and shrug
one with the rug
outside trees turn
hard to discern
the exact lament
or precise moment
laying another quilt
over emotions spilt
for confessions told
in nights groan cold
I fall
I fall
I fall
1 comment:
In the garden, growth has it seasons. First comes spring and summer, but then we have fall and winter. And then we get spring and summer again.
There will be growth in the spring!
Chauncey Gardiner
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