THE LETTER, SEALED and WAITING
"It may take two months; it may take a year and a half. Everybody's different."
It may take more than I would ever think. It may take
From and always always in the night She will wonder
And see what was to Her, what little She could merge
Concrete and shrieking fantasy. Horror in the evening,
Always never sure before the door steps in. Always
Never able to allow those others, those unknown partners
In conveyance, full regard of faith and doubtless
Tendency to more than not be generous and thoughtful.
It may take the hope, the narrow thread of my conception
Soul is generally choosing having justifying all perspective
Larger picture at the end it might more likely be
What made all sense then. Charity towards that unseen
Maybe like so all those before just because would so much
Better, it is vapor hanging low like fog, when roads dip
Valley slides all wisp obscure and clinging fogging much
Like ever chill and spreading sifting into air when pavement rises.
It may take what would have if such truths exist. It may
Take a lifetime one had never yet but only if It never only ever
if It stands alone as this and always what It was It takes without
A pause. Time will live in segments titled short and memorable.
This word of His will only factor in this next and only stand not
Ever fill and always only minute from the years It still has taken.
Always this and ever only less than something more.
Archiving all of these memories
2 years ago