Dearest,
Reads the page,
pit pat resounds the rain—
the winded trees bend
like streaks on my face;
fierce is the hand that’s deadened the drain.
weak are the words,
cheerless and strange,
far from my lips,
and farther remains—
silent thoughts.
pit pat, pit pat.
“Cheap are the stars,
Everyone thinks their so rich in light,
But look at the moon.”
“Dear child how dare you question me,”
yet clearly I remember that night,
on my knees,
when I asked for a star and it streaked
in the sky—and I knew you were real
and I didn’t have to try.
“But where is that star
as the rain falls”—
pit pat.
As I read from you dearest,
A silent mock and laugh—
“How dare you call my bluff!
How dare you, call my bluff!
I was not and you know it!
I was not!
…please forgive me
(I know it’s all mine).”
“…Dear God if that’s you.
…if that feeling is you.
…if my questions are
true don’t leave me alone.
…but don’t call me dearest,
not anything so close,
…my heart hurts enough
and I’m glad with my ghost”—
all alone lone lone loneliness
pitter pit pat
“don’t’ call me dearest like that.”
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