never were, never there

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  • Emotional

    never were, never there

    It wasn’t intentional
    Despite my claim

    I didn’t know we could turn coffee and charity,
    Into passion and clarity.

    I wasn’t aware,
    Despite your smile.

    I’d find comfort in the thought you,
    Renewed faith through my draw to you.

    It’s not the kind of passion you feel
    When someone says; sit ,stay, heel

    The beauty is in the freedom of connection,
    The value, in reflection.

    No urgency,
    No tears,
    Just laughter,
    No fears.
    I was once so proud of the man that stood before me,
    Head held high,
    and strength in his step
    conviction in his voice
    and love in his hands.

    Now I watch as you dangle,
    on the brink of sanity and reason,
    between hope and nothingness.

    Soon you’ll fall.
    and I’m running,
    as fast as I can,
    away
    from the edge of the precarious cliff,
    as it crumbles
    under the tips of your fingers
    and the weight of my expectations

    The faster I run,
    the faster it disintegrates.
    you grab my ankle trying to pull me with you,
    I can’t go, I won’t.
    I’ll take the children before it swallows me too.
    I’ll pretend you were never there, never were, never there.

    Sad to say you’re worth more dead than alive to me now.
    your presence means pain and heartache,
    and yelling and crying,
    screaming and fighting.

    I want to let go,
    watch you fade into the abyss,
    keeping only the happy memories,
    mush them together,
    and form them into the image of the man,
    that should have been their father.
    You wanted more,
    you promised.
    you owe us more,
    you know this.
    so stand up and fight for yourself.
    or let the addiction swallow you whole.
    but don’t stand at the edge of the mouth,
    as teeth bear down,
    leaving flesh wounds the saliva eating them deeper,
    be gone or get out,
    be saved or swallowed.
    I want to pretend you were never there.
    never were never there.

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    Poetry is what is lost in translation.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    TheOptimist’s Poems (4)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    I for Me 0
    never were, never there 0
    Female 1
    The Eternal Optimist 2