Here. Hear, Dear.

by CWK

Forgive me if I stumble,

or meander now and then, or mumble.

The important thing is, I’m here, dear.
My heart is clear, dear,

even if my words are jumbled.
My words are gentle; they are humble;
they are near, dear.
So incline your ear, and hear, dear.

I wanted to tell you, I can only live here,

not there, and not just anywhere.

I’m barely here, here; 
I think, I hope, I might be fine –

but it would be more than just a line

to say I had a frightful scare, dear;

to say I’m living scarcely, on a prayer here.

Not that long ago, I fell out of reach.

I was ebbing like a castle of sand

at dusk, when the tide floods the beach.

My soul felt pale, faded, and bland:

like a Rembrandt, awash all in bleach.
I could barely stand,
and I could not understand
why or how to heal the breach
between me and me.

In habit of heart, I reached for your hand,

but it was missing. You were distant,

out of touch, away a thousand miles.

I feared I had been beguiled.

I feared our love a lie from my own tongue,
or worse, a dream from fever flung.

Was it your hand I held when… 
Whose was it then?

I lay at death's door for awhile, 
then another while.

I longed for someone to come to me and smile

anxiously, and say, 
"I came soon as I heard!"
What sick soul doesn't pray
to hear those words?

Meanwhile, I wondered, whose smile

I had seen all those times – Yours? Or, were

those dreams of some you I never even met?

Was it some you I missed – just barely –

but still, against my will, could not forget?

Such are the thoughts of mad men;

such are the thoughts I had then.

But I need to tell you: I am barely here, here:

holding on for dear life, dear:

making it through a day as if a day were a life, dear.
I can’t live outside these summer winters.

I have just enough grace to thrive here.

Like Manna, I have only a daily supply to survive here.

But, the important thing is, I’m here, dear,

and heart is clear, dear.
My words are near dear.
So, incline your ear, and hear, dear.