Hill in Force

Gotcha.

She couldn't let go.

Gotcha.

Twisted with concern.

Gotcha.

And then a spiral twist.

From that moment on

she sprang to fruition,

holding onto something

that was thought to become,

but never lasted.

A lonely spider

in a kiln

suffocating within her own web

then loose beyond any thrill.

I couldn't say

how hard the climb was.

But it takes a harder step to cross it,

and another to move it.

And although

my reflection seeks beauty and peace,

my heart despairs

along the everlasting

road that's

been trampled to bits.

Could I have said it then?

I did but with less grace

do I hold onto something

that's totally killing the core of everlasting sorrow,

between these walls I seek the courage

to not become the victim

of my own demise.

And why would anyone ever want me?

Not because I don't believe I deserve it,

but maybe because there is no one there.

A happy thought,

but nothing that could stick

inside my heart.

And yet I dream

and hopelessly fall for something

that's poor and

indisposed.

A book is comfort

and book is a dream

a poem is food

a poem is...

Bruised.