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.