Wednesday, January 23, 2013

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.

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