I’m lost in the trees that used to conceal,
Being torn down the middle, right in two.
You’re killing me slowly; you are surreal—
I hear your voice and don’t know what to do.
My dogmatic figure falls to the meek,
I must summon courage and speak anew.
Even blackbirds cry as I do weep,
I crumple into memories of you.
Alas, I stare at stars from the rooftop,
Teetering on a ledge, no ground below.
Under my breast my heart lays still, full stop
Time seems to move fast but my tears dry slow.
Will I think to try again tomorrow?
Or sit on this ledge, still draped in sorrow?
DannYetmanhttp://yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com/
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