Gentle As the Moon
Who is this?
That calls me from my latent apathy.
Why is this good?
rescuing heart from lovers atrophy.
My desperate mewling
reached further than a shout.
Stumbling toe scraping limp
took me further, packed more clout.
I was lied to.
Thinking that you're bottomless ration,
could be earned,
could be bought with acts of compassion.
I was indulging in hurt,
abiding in poetic romantic pain.
I was thrashing around
bellowing at nothing,
needing to blame.
Why is this love for me?
when I was wasting all my energy
on a treadmill run.
Who is this?
That holds me light;
gentle as the moon,
source of the sun.
Copyright © Ross Thompson | Year Posted 2011
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