Response to the Minute Poet

Love never failed you.

You keep living in this place,

I’ve seen the pictures, but 

it doesn’t exist anymore,

a mere fantasy of past, convoluted

by memory and interspersed with

with weeds of your exclusive perception.

A girl with a shy smile, t-shirt

and jeans, she walks in your

shared space, and the colors fit her.

Loose pony tail, hurriedly done,

no make-up, no jewelry,

as if you’d surprised her with the

camera. 

She wasn’t someone

I would have taken for you, but her

eyes conveyed a simple message,

and for what you missed, I cannot say.

This ended. You and I both know.

And you thought I was like her,

felt the same energy of storm, 

and a heartbroken vibration that

echoes from the depths of our eyes.

Whatever failed you was

not love. No fault in a person

who is not her, no

reconciliation through your agony.

You ignore the state you are in,

but sooner or later, 

it will catch you, cornered and alone,

and consume you whole.

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A Decision to be Made

Hulking and heavy, a boulder
hoisted high above a pit,

looming, whispers and

baited breath from below

to chance a glimpse

the moment that it drops.

These few seconds of suspense,

a tiresome feat to behold, do little 

to help the one trying to be anchor, 

pulling on the ropes in every desperate 

attempt to keep the rock above.

It’s seen in the dust that is stirred up,

the unsteady steps that keep trying

to find a more helpful foothold,

the shoes worn down til the soles

have no traction, and the silent

resolve in a grip of a person

whose shaking arms have lasted this long

in a struggle between what 

is possible and probable, but

the boulder seeks to take captor

with it, allow the chasm to swallow

whole the one who grasps, white-knuckled.

Is it better to let go of the heavy stone 

and move on, in disappointment,

 than lose footing and fall in after?