Pages

Saturday, 11 August 2012

Justice lies wandering

Angst
Amid the scream of anger
The pain

Of growing up
The pain of being or becoming
A grown up growing up

Always in the past
Shit
That fucking stuff

That brings regret
Stuff that opens
All those darkened doors

Too far away
And far too close
To see or feel the love

Tears
And misheard conversations
No words bring justice

Where justice lies wandering
And hope is left squandering
Or pushed away completely

Fight
Or flight in unselfish persecution
Of self at best

Unworthy except of blame, shame that
You ever entered
Through life’s wide open door

Cannot love
Ever be left like this
Ever like this be left

Instead the will of ordination
Fingers just touch on fingers
For this is far too early

Far too early
For a full on come on
Shoulder wrapped embrace

Dare
Of each and then of each other
Enter always the complicated situations

Engage your care
Back into those deep
Wide and furlong furrows

Leave space
Burrowed
With time

With gentleness

Of room for mistakes
And misappropriations
Conserve creation to cherish

This love too far away
And far too close
To see or even to be seen



From the Collection I Suppose You could Call It Country, available on Kindle