When is the last time you heard from him?
The questions that try to tread
so lightly on my feelings, dig
deeper at effervescence
levitating my soul.
Can I ask? Does the mention of his name
make you angry? Sad?
I’m never quite sure how to answer
these plays at my faith,
I want you to prepare yourself
for the possibility that he won’t
Like frantically plucking out feathers
from a living bird’s wing.
You have hope?
I won’t call you stupid, but…
The unknown is pleasant in the fact
it doesn’t kill off that hope.
It’s needed to survive, and sometimes
that fragile bit of false hope
is all that keeps us waking up,
and going to bed at a reasonable hour.
I can understand where you’re coming from.
To follow our dreams, they
are afraid, to follow our hearts,
we are fools, and faith and trust,
they’ve fallowed their own fields,
and enkindle yours.
Prepare yourself that he won’t come back.
I’m sure they mean well,
they try to keep you secure,
and afterall, you’ve had doubts yourself,
I didn’t want to tell you,
I saw him a few weeks back,
he passed me in the city,
and he didn’t say a word.
The act is repulsive,
taking away any shred of
potential, to keep you “realistic”
or from getting your hopes up,
and what’s wrong with either?
If he wanted to be with you,
he would be here.