You throw yourself at my feet like a child, arms all splayed and
Ready to welcome.
The words you speak are so sweet like mid-morning dew, honey of the night is all that
Remains in the morning.
Your soul aches to know what it is like to be in my arms, but my arms ache with the
Weight of your soul.
The hope you put into this "thing" is beautiful and frightening, being ready to give up
All you have gained.
Knowing the hurt and pain of my darkened past does not throw you, and you
Are always near.
But can you not see all the confusion and twisted branches that have become the
Life I live?
Do you really have a desire to climb to the top of this tree, for fear of falling head-first
Is always there?
I flip and balk and retreat and retrace and say "I don't know," but you are always
Waiting with a hand.
In the wings of my life you wait until the curtain is open and the stage is set, the trap door open and the
Time is right.
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 2:59 AM UTC
You throw yourself at my feet like a child, arms all splayed and
Ready to welcome.
The words you speak are so sweet like mid-morning dew, honey of the night is all that
Remains in the morning.
Your soul aches to know what it is like to be in my arms, but my arms ache with the
Weight of your soul.
The hope you put into this "thing" is beautiful and frightening, being ready to give up
All you have gained.
Knowing the hurt and pain of my darkened past does not throw you, and you
Are always near.
But can you not see all the confusion and twisted branches that have become the
Life I live?
Do you really have a desire to climb to the top of this tree, for fear of falling head-first
Is always there?
I flip and balk and retreat and retrace and say "I don't know," but you are always
Waiting with a hand.
In the wings of my life you wait until the curtain is open and the stage is set, the trap door open and the
Time is right.
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