When was the last time you really cried?
Not the little swells you suppress, like now, but
when did you last let the
road feel the rain and your knees
and beat out with a twisted fist
what little left of the
tantrum
there is.
Never. You're a swollen tributary
always and a steamy hot-spring
always
but never the monumental deluge;
composure is an efficient sentry on leave rarely.
You know you need it
but you don't know
if you
deserve it.
Shame's a hot oil
and we don't cry
oil.
Maybe
we should start.
Comments
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This is lovely, Jesse. A bit different from what I am used to from your pen but powerful and profound nonetheless. It makes me wonder about your inspiration for this poem - I wonder what is happening in your world?
"You're a swollen tributary
always and a steamy hot-spring
always
but never the monumental deluge;
composure is an efficient sentry on leave rarely."
Terribly true. Unfortunately.
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exactly. raw and open.
in awe as usual. -
this is fantastic...and pretty damn accurate
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