Fall is slowing
to a crawl.
I’m moaning
prayers and confessions.
Ongoing,
a given direction.
So, now I’m disarmed,
stripped of my barbs,
relieved of my scars.
Holding high and lowly,
with a love so holy.
I’ve been all we are.
Could be – but it never is,
what we let ourselves down with
is a scene of bitter nature,
though I could never hate her.
Come slowly to me
and I will follow.
HG – 2000-2005
