Never quite done

Why am I still crying,
If it didn’t matter, and it doesn’t?
Why would I call it the greatest love
Of my life if it wasn’t?
How many years worth of pictures,
And songs, and trips, and conversations,
Are too many to edit, select all, delete,
Going through life with artificial stricture,
By ending, in essence of as they were, certain relations,
Sends one spiraling through life incomplete.
But, I digress, this mess of blessings raining down,
We call living, may not be felt in the receipt,
Or the cap and gown as one graduates from
Gift to giving.

I cannot reconcile the past with the future,
Nor can I the present with the past,
And the exact path that suits your demands,
May not be, for me, what will last.

I revisit old ground before we met,
And it’s colored still by visions of you,
I can remember countless moments I’ll never forget,
If not the exact lyrics and particular hue.

Please just don’t repudiate me,
Please attempt to see my enduring love,
In spite of absence, and lack of sense,
I could understand if you do hate me,
But I wish below me, beside me, and above me,
Were all equally intense.

Baby, my moods may swing,
And my dance may not keep,
And my words may get muddled as I age,
But to me joy you brought and bring,
With you I slept and sleep,
I wrote and turned the page.


Being heard, stirred, and perhaps cured by life's many hidden images and the written-spoken word.
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