That might just as well be the moon, there at the end of these miles
You, sending out SOS love signals, hoping I’ll find your gaze
I, the Major of some spacecraft crashed light years away
Will all this only be an imagined adventure, two souls, starstruck
I wonder how I’d look with the Sun on my face. Not the fast and deep flowing sunlight, who I long ago named Hope. But the actual Sun. Surely the truth and green of my eyes would shine. Surely I’d see my chin lifted ever so slightly higher. Surely I’d feel beautiful. Then, “Hope,” I could say, “move along.”
“What the bullet’s love
didn’t look like: Gratitude.”
-The Scar On My Heart
The white-washed picket fence has blown open again, inviting the varying voices that be
An opportunity, this open door, this moment, and I stick my snowy-white foot in its way
Ajar it will stay, for I’m bolder today and my eyes see the truth ‘neath the paint chipped away
Should any of self-proclaimed gods upon high
Be lying in wait for my feet to trip up
Be prowling as jackals for meat from my bones
Grow old you shall, ‘fore you find my will at play
Dementia and graves will be yours if you dare
Take me on for sport will you?
I cannot care
It’s just my shoulder
There’s nothing inherently beautiful or strong, tempting or freeing
Cool or calm about it, is there?
It’s just an offer
There’re billions of others to stand square with, befriend or lean on
Swoon over or serve with, aren’t there?
My blessed teacher
My ego’s sworn enemy
My joy deflated
LisaRosier.com 