I am so very, very tired
So long have I been at this
I see it is My turn, so tired
Long past due I let it go
This weight that my heart hordes
So much so that it knows no other's
You should know, I own the burden
Though it is imbued by You
My heart is unbending in its loyalty
Knows no technicality or view
Only You, that so very, very long ago
Woke in my breast the love
In turn became a world
My heart can't see Me destroy
And every day, so many nights,
So very many times I have known
Dreams from which my heart speaks
Each it calls out for You, you alone
Dreams are not weightless
As foolishly I once believed,
One, a few, even hundreds,
Difficult to notice when added
As life, living, the toll those carry
For so long, so very, very many nights
And I am tired, I confess at the threat of collapsing, and through the taxing of time
Being alone, incapable of loving
No other, I have tried and they knew
The weight my heart holds for you
Long past due I confess I still Love You
Unlike You, my heart never sought new
Never wanted any but You
Causing haunted dreams,
and shall I think forever
This is my hearts letter,  
my attempt to move on,
But never over... You.

Shouting without sound
So deafeningly envelopes
My mind a dizzying compound
Voices uniquely all my own
Circles and incessant banter
Back and forth praises some
Criticism seemingly echo
So frequent to nearly permanent
Dangerous self-appraisals
Most are exposed and understood
Systematically picked apart
discarded seen for what they were
Countered conscious affirmations
Feeling weak in the chaos
Introspection's melt to
Familiar jingles implanted
******* commercials are effective
I many dialogs in my charge
Honestly 90 percent of unheard
Or forgotten as quickly as the next thought
struggle and circles and lost articles
This is my mind, inside voices
All my sides and fears and guardian words
choices, ponderings, and resignations
No wonder terrible migraines viciousness
They create order and pinpoint focus
Every voices subject and order reigns
Pain does this duel edge solution
And i have found my own hands
Given the freedom to manipulate or create
Without a voice directing quiets my
Mind my dialogs turn to strings
Easy to appreciate, acknowledge
And i am zen-like in this watching
My hands create a peace I've thought fabled
So i tinker, i take apart, rather do appendages
Paint, or mold, sculpt or scribble upon paper
Coax words into my own form of poetic function.  Hands busy puts me into a place i run to often.  This is a result that written out i smiled and i listened to each line as i typed
Content and quite in appreciation.  Hope you like it.