If to pluck a petal
makes me wonder
"love me not,"
then every pebble
(cause of stumble)
heeds a path
that most forgot.
Just a human
now exhuming
bones deep buried
under doubt
that with sunlight,
wonders one,
might not life
live without?
Much too late,
conversation
we never braved
to breach,
forsaken--
but with faith,
self foundation,
bleed so others
we can teach.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 12:16 PM UTC
If to pluck a petal
makes me wonder
"love me not,"
then every pebble
(cause of stumble)
heeds a path
that most forgot.
Just a human
now exhuming
bones deep buried
under doubt
that with sunlight,
wonders one,
might not life
live without?
Much too late,
conversation
we never braved
to breach,
forsaken--
but with faith,
self foundation,
bleed so others
we can teach.
Request permission to use this poem