Moss
Dreams, they are what builds my bridges.
Pure love and togetherness,
That's all I could ever hope for.
He speaks of marriage with contempt,
With excitement and pleasure.
They say once we arrive at a certain age,
Our imagination runs dry.
Oh, how wrong they are!
As for women never outgrow it,
Their men are forever up to something.
I let mine roam free,
Decided to be my own enemy.
With time, that seed grew,
As did my enemy.
I've never once imagined,
It to leave me gasping for air,
Leaving me in an everlasting nightmare.
A conscience needing clarity,
A white picket fence now covered in moss.
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