She is out there
Yet to find you or be found
But she is there.
Unburdened, unburdening,
Young grass in May fields
Far from my own.
Rousing like your small
Town shook by scandal.
She is me without withouts
Me under halo light
Me under no conditions
She is the scalable summit.
The fertile earth to
Plant your flag in.
I am a passing thing.
Already fading as I’m falling.
But, I have some things to say
For when you meet her,
For the drowning now-ness
For the giddy recaptured youth
For the lightness across you
For the heavy things you leave behind
For the new colours on your crowded canvas
For the womb pushed beyond itself
For the house that is home
Yours is yours — in my eyes too.
No “should have been mine’s”
Or “hope it goes wrong’s”.
I know that words are sometimes
True in their time but not beyond
And I free you from yours.
If we meet in some
Distant dull midweek
I'll play my part
I'll make the talk small
I’ll be “an old friend”
And maybe you'll remember
How things were before
And maybe I'll want you to
But if you don't it's ok.
Really, it is.
I won't bury it,
For buried things
Call you back.
I'll let it go.
And I won’t care
If you don’t care
How much it took to.
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I really love this line "For the new colours on your crowded canvas." Do we really release or bury memories but write them as lines in our epic life poem. We may embellish or reshape moments but they always live with us.
D A N G because these envision things and reminded me of distant memories and makes me feel nostalgic I really like these quoted below:
"I'll let it go.
And I won’t care
If you don’t care"
Yours is yours — in my eyes too.
No “should have been mine’s”
Or “hope it goes wrong’s”.
If we meet in some
Distant dull midweek -(I love this line)
I'll play my part
I'll make the talk small
I’ll be “an old friend”