Jan 17, 2014

Calling It Even


We have been thieves, stealing the purple thunder.

Awaking to night worry, regrets that  pave a stubborn line.

They tell us we are prisoners in our war.

The grudges which scrape left overs into unclean plates.

The sincere love replaced with a malice of the heart.

When will we lift the heavy burdens?

Then bundle our bitterness like a tight nap sack.

Forgive ourselves with graceful hugs that frees athority.

The years have become as caves. Our dues have been paid.

We should let go of selfish pride.

You are a precious sight that I have sketched on and off paper.

A silver dollar found on a dusty road.

A cooing sound at my window pane.

May we gradually  build up what has been torn apart. 

After all, we mustered these miserable teardrops.

Our bond shall be greater as a temple restored.

There isn't a need to keep score anymore.

 jhp©2011-2012



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