Wednesday, December 26, 2007

I know, I know: it's horrible

Every Day

I realized today
How much I love you,
How much I should say,
How much I must do.

It is not an easy thing, this high regard
We have for gentle slopes beneath heavenly
Tear-drops, the simple curvature simply barred,
The empty valley's grove waiting for its tree.

Words spin spinelessly from this spindle, timelessly
Marking out an overwrought path between fires
Bound and unbound, suffocating as punishment. See
Truth and ambiguity will rise in tall spires.

Yet speak we must, sewing together patchwork
Comfort to keep us warm on this valley floor.
It is dark sometimes, and we cannot help but lurk
In shifting shadows thinking, "Is this a chore?"

Morning then appears, dawn's drops dousing fires and fears.
We're never quire sure if we should expect it,
Continually creating rituals, quilts, and tears
In vain hopes that they're a help, rather than septic.

It is only by grace
That I ever receive,
But I climb walls of lace
In your name to appease.


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