Where the Horses Run
Such have I lived and so I will die -
aiming to need less and be needed more.
Yet how much can be quelled?
What should be imposed?
Worst of all why is it that I do not
seek the mind or heart of another?
Why is it that I do not wish to?
Not a sense of superiority,
though that would bring a sick comfort to the conscience.
Perhaps it is just fear - a fear of vulnerability.
A fear of knowing that every soul reaches out
with a blended desire of making another and itself happy.
Is it so wrong that the two should be conjoined?
No ... and it is wrong to think it could be any different.
Yet, still it feels a betrayal of sorts.
Not to be loved purely out of selfless goodwill.
And being unable to offer such in exchange.
Run like the wild horses off beyond the horizon.
Find your own course, even if it runs through the hills
a lost and lonely path.
At least stumble in your own shoes,
making fresh footprints.
Expect nothing,
give what you can,
and accept tokens of the heart as they come.
Written 23 December 2021
Copyright © J. I. Thomas F. | Year Posted 2022
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