Cold Measurements
Do not think there is a day I do not want
Or a week, or even a year I repulse
Do not think I do rebuff
Any part that is you
If there is something I abhor it is the distance...
the distance that you put between us
In miles, lightyears and the length
Of your arm
In cold measurements of two cups water,
three cups ice, you dose our lives
You dispense your time
in small pills
The wild that we were so long ago
Turned tame and subdued
A gilded cage with
open door
Do not think there is a day I do not miss
Who we once were. I reject
Who we are now. I set
you free.
***
March 24, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017
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