Wednesday, November 26, 2014

What It Is, What It Isn't

Love isn't just some words I say
Reading them by rote off a page
Little kid anticipating a gold star
Trembling, hoping, Teacher recognize me!
I'm reading real good today.

It's not an accidental habit
An uncontrollable tick
A compulsion that overrides my brain
In thoughtless repetition
As everyday routine as breathing in and out.

I will take this fragile hopeful feeling
And I will grow it in the cold dark moments
Greenhouse style with humid warmth
So in the sunshine glory days
It will cover us both and we can't help but grin.

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