Honesty At the Edge of Sleep
honesty at the edge of sleep
captive by the night
deepest black
it touches into my soul
where turmoil presides.
so many questions
on millipede feet
stomping in army boots
across all my conscience;
a voice singing soft upon the ear
was there not more?
could you not have trod
that one mile more?
in your searches
were they not for you
to find love by your wit defined
when all the while
scattered as shells along the shore
of your wandering sea
were there not times
to love in many forms, colours
have you missed the whole lesson?
it is not how much you are loved.
it is how much of your love is given, freely.
Copyright © Patricia Cresswell | Year Posted 2017
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