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Literature Text
It's so simple.
Requires not the writing of a book,
the creation of a poem,
or many, many long hours in those chat rooms
(and everywhere is a chat room)
or lots of knowing looks
finally getting nowhere.
It's a point of ridicule
many knowing glances
many pieces of advice
that sadly point away from their intended target
only suffice to end the conversation
a call to be brave is not a proposal.
it's telling you to go elsewhere
the most tender words more like a hand clutching a paw
that is awaiting a needle
these things are not.
Not it.
I find no optimism from there being water in a tap
or that rain falls down instead of up
or that the sun will rise tomorrow
because these things simply are.
The signs point away into unknown places still
figments which another has thought
hope from those who have what they need so far
so have room for hope
And what to hope for
That's a thing
Simply to hold someone
to hear them whisper your name at night
a touch ,
and when the day spills over
trust
But this will not do
you earn trust.
You have to be good enough for trust too.
There is a meeting,
then an attraction
then a span of days and nights
and then a holding ,
or a letting go
and in the darkness,
Many grasping hands.
Many stronger than mine.
Am I there yet?
Am I there yet?
The room is dry and the streets are wet
Then another telling goodbye,
most are silent.
Without reply
Requires not the writing of a book,
the creation of a poem,
or many, many long hours in those chat rooms
(and everywhere is a chat room)
or lots of knowing looks
finally getting nowhere.
It's a point of ridicule
many knowing glances
many pieces of advice
that sadly point away from their intended target
only suffice to end the conversation
a call to be brave is not a proposal.
it's telling you to go elsewhere
the most tender words more like a hand clutching a paw
that is awaiting a needle
these things are not.
Not it.
I find no optimism from there being water in a tap
or that rain falls down instead of up
or that the sun will rise tomorrow
because these things simply are.
The signs point away into unknown places still
figments which another has thought
hope from those who have what they need so far
so have room for hope
And what to hope for
That's a thing
Simply to hold someone
to hear them whisper your name at night
a touch ,
and when the day spills over
trust
But this will not do
you earn trust.
You have to be good enough for trust too.
There is a meeting,
then an attraction
then a span of days and nights
and then a holding ,
or a letting go
and in the darkness,
Many grasping hands.
Many stronger than mine.
Am I there yet?
Am I there yet?
The room is dry and the streets are wet
Then another telling goodbye,
most are silent.
Without reply
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Shorter, getting shorter still.
© 2009 - 2024 Carenza
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