If I am god then
Why can’t I roll back the stone
And walk right through the morning back home?
Back to the self for which I atone.
People are asleep by the fire—
The snow hits;
They talk until I’m tired.
I call out for you in the dead quiet,
Still, I don’t know if I'm here alone.
You’re just as bored as I am at home,
In the winter where life is as dead,
As everything I called my own;
You can’t pick up the phone.
I can’t cry for coming so close,
Or let it die without feeling it go.
Copyright © Jessica VH