-no title yet-

The struggle against addiction lost another freedom fighter

Let me take you Hand. Walk with me,
Taste the tavern where we met again.
I hear your confessions from then,
Smell your skin
Feel the twist of our necks
And the colossal weight of my chest
Caving-in.

Hand, can you see the bits of paint?
All in the yard, white specks
Surrounding the foundation
As though the old farm house shivered,
Knowing what was happening within.
A beautiful dope house. An acre
A big oak tree, you sat at the kitchen table
Waiting, it seemed like just for me,
And when our eyes me we warmed the room
Didn't miss the glass for the window
Or the heat removed from the busted heater.

Take me Hand, for today i was let into the loop,
Indirectly. Silently.
Given the news.
And when i was contemplating on running,
Jumping from a larger ledge,
Doing my decade bit upstate,
You moved the sun.
Let the light splash through
What many see as a weed-
The pastel pink like blossom of myrtle,
If the branch were to shrink.

So take me Hand
And guide me
I may not always listen
But guide me
With the love
Only we knew.

Reviews

[. serah .]

~ monsieur steeven, the "You moved the sun" stanza is particularly stunning... and this symphony of yours sounds so crushingly earnest that the addiction doesn't seem like a damaging one... maybe i'm thinking that an addiction which triggered such a beautiful piece of writing might not be harmful after all... :p