Collateral Damage
He is my child hood dream.
The crush, the fantasy of sweet delight.
The diminished version of realties truth.
His being is of remembrance and sweet innocence
and my flesh is aged and stuck in the present,
aching for the memory of the innocence crushed.
We side step around the silence filled with unspoken words.
Fearing to say the wrong thing and drastically change our paths,
which we have allready devastingly lost.
Instead we walk and pick our steps from amongst the roots and brambles.
He holds my hand. Implores with eyes for me to forget his wounds.
And I desperately grasp this truce, eyes closed trying not to see my collateral damage.
Copyright © Tara Jennings | Year Posted 2016
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