More fickle than the seasons
fragile like thawing ice

attached with a firm grip
clutching like a baby’s hand.

Desperate but never dangerous
susceptible yet not defenceless
acquiescent, though a fool.

They are the simpleton’s
that embrace counterfeit fables,
illusions of promise

And at the end
that makes them break

But oh dear,
sometimes
the honey tastes sour too.

I pray for the day you crave my touch more than anything

And I will watch you wither in sorrow

As I have.

The sweetest sounds I’ve ever heard,
no one would hear a peep

The sweetest sleep,
no one hears the breath

Ones heart thaws

When one can’t have the sweetest touch
alone

I’m finding peace
In your silence

I’m finding peace
In your rage

I’m finding peace
In your absence

I’m finding peace
In being silent

I’m finding peace
In my anger

I’m finding peace
In my solitude