Note – I wrote this late November 2011. The words echo even more meaningfully today.
Desolation is now
Desolation is today
Fearing I’ve pushed you away
Cringing from the memory of my written words
The blame was never yours
The fault lies within myself
What good is a gift
if you cut yourself with it?
There is a skill that I sorely lack –
leaving along that which is imperfect,
Driven to smooth the edges
and to whisk the invisible dust.
That imperfect state may house what otherwise can’t exist at all.
Frivolous housekeeping provokes too much unsettling of debris,
exposing that which should not be uncovered –
blinding spotlight on the unacceptable flaw.
What seemed full of clarity
becoming more obscure as layers peeled away
Having long acknowledged the limits imposed
but steadily losing the resolve never fixed.
One thing emerges as unequivocal.
In any form deemed proper
I must have you in my life,
I must know you’re there
Knowing it can never be more
Accepted with stone filled heart many moons ago.
But complex feelings sometimes offer
a wider range of what becomes acceptable.
My panic increasing by the hour
Not just threatened with yet another loss
but the loss of you
No other choice, caring too much.