Saturday, February 18, 2017

Feared, a poem


I feared her as much as I loved her,
counting my hours, hours
of freedom and of bondage.
To return, one must

run away. How far?
To the end of her soul,
to the starless voids
between our galaxies.

To the end of that branch
where twigs sway in the wind,
touching now and again.
I glimpsed a light between

the trembling leaves and wished
upon it for my death
or perhaps for hers.
One as good as the other —

all things come back in time
but not the same. Never
the same — that is what
I feared and what I loved.

Stephen Brooke © 2017

What's it about? Your guess is as good as mine.

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