She was never one for
close contact
A hug
was just not something
to give away easily

We grew up together
for the past 16 years
I've been near her through
tears of a fallen friend
The end of high school
and meaningless adventures

We've always said goodbye
A simple wave
with a goofy grin  
Till the day my time there
came to an end

I moved away
far away
to a place she couldn't reach
And the last time I saw her she
offered me a comforting hug

As if I was going to
the trenches of a great war
It was strange
It was odd
It felt like no hug I felt
before

It was real
It was powerful
I never wanted to both
feel and not feel
a hug like that again

She was my secret crush
She would always be my
friend

499

Those fair—fictitious People—
The Women—plucked away
From our familiar Lifetime—
The Men of Ivory—

Those Boys and Girls, in Canvas—
Who stay upon the Wall
In Everlasting Keepsake—
Can Anybody tell?

We trust—in places perfecter—
Inheriting Delight
Beyond our faint Conjecture—
Our dizzy Estimate—

Remembering ourselves, we trust—
Yet Blesseder—than We—
Through Knowing—where We only hope—
Receiving—where we—pray—

Of Expectation—also—
Anticipating us
With transport, that would be a pain
Except for Holiness—

Esteeming us—as Exile—
Themself—admitted Home—
Through easy Miracle of Death—
The Way ourself, must come—

Inspiration throbbing in my brain
None of that makes sense I'll try again.
Words knock knock knock but I can't get them out;
Cracking my skull in nose bleeds of doubt.
How can I let them know what I mean?
I just have to let it out but I'm too choked up to scream.
The worst thing about being an artist is:
Nothing can truly express the essence that is this

Happy is a farmer
in the village
Of hope

Is because
A clean heart bears
A clean thought

Everywhere I go
Everybody wants to know
"Where's the lady"
They all ask
I answer, hiding behind a mask
Of smiles and laughs,
And say to them:
"She's gone, she won't be back again;
I don't care"
And shrug my shoulders.
But now my life is so much colder
I walk alone, the crowded streets
And tell my tale to friends I meet
Then I turn, walk on with the truth
With tear-filled eyes
I think of you

Water  rushing  down  the  drains.
And  through  windswept  country  lanes.

Trees  brushing  water  away  with  their  leaves.
Birds  sheltering  under  the  eaves.

Pools  on  the  lawn  appear.
It,s  a  dreadful  night  I  fear.

Pitch  black  little  to  see.
A  new  day  may  set  us  free.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.