Time is a commodity

A currency

That can't be bartered

Or borrowed

We steal it in quick spurts

Along the paths

We are given

No marker exists

Indicating where those paths

Might travel or where

They will end

There are only precious moments

Remembered

Along the way

Like snapshots pasted

Along the continuum

Of the universe

That give us

Some sense of meaning

In our flash of existence

Within cosmic time

coughing words

choked out of

of a heart

simply to broadcast more 

hurt.

I demand you feel for me.

Old wounds, yours, ready to

drip red balm on me a

drop at time that congeales 

into words, phrases, scabs

that blot pages and obscure

your pain by

pretence.

That you soothe.

Faces blur and

foggy eyes

are a forecast

too well known,

when standing

here surrounded

by the people

I call home.

From you I’ve

learned so much

more than I ever did

in school,

and here, campfires

and poetry

became the newest

“cool”.

Together we walked

hand in hand,

and so together too

we fell -

rebuilt each other

piece by piece,

shook off the dust

of deeper wells.

I would tell you

that I’m grateful,

I would say

thank you if I

thought

that those words

could ever come

to know

this feeling of

distraught -

but in my time with

you and you with me,

I’ve learned

an awful lot

about how to say

goodbye,

and I now know it

to be tough.

And I can tell you with

all certainty, that

words are not enough.

We are ever changing

Let new petals grow.

Love,

Well Love is the constant.

Love,

You have always known.