Questions like clouds hang low over my mountains,
misting the clarity of view, and too,
I see green yearning pines in perfect lines
assume the slops, aspire to heights,
and thoughts just dissipate amid the ache of morning dew,
chilled beneath a blanket of snow.
Frozen words in sunlit thaw,
try to be what they are,
but silence bares their altered state,
truth, their unexpressed fate, as air is thick,
weighted by winter’s woes, and my words are just stuck
within the glow of nature’s dressed formality.
Relent I do as trust is cold upon my tongue,
and in heart I must tread lightly with you,
such an anxiety I yield, love so sweet in my heart,
yet the start of expression caught amid the morn,
fear like the desolation of alone, I’m prone,
so wait I will, till snow melts to water’s run.
Phrases form in heart-warmed subsequence,
yet not honed to what I need in address,
and you not hard on request,
yet tis I with whom the process must be right,
each utterance a positive plight,
if winter’s chill to melt for a heart’s sake.
Perhaps I shall await the spring,
when sun and sky attest the warmth,
give reason for new starts and open minds in clean air rise,
to aspire these words of mine I will bestow upon you,
in hope of a summer worth the glue,
affixed to heart and soul.
Then, my questions of validity
will fall on a warmer embrace,
not chased away in winter’s chill,
but held of heart and thrilled in acceptance,
my one true hope of words of love withheld,
ones that in promise will meld within your own.
Then, there is autumn, the golden change,
perhaps you are fond and words of love gone
but for those street parades, golds, reds and browns
so delicately painted on every leaf,
perhaps my relief when love is posed by word alone,
and I so prone to breaking.
Tony DeLorger © 2018
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