Your legs are crossed, a solid base
to ponder the long hours we spend apart,
seeking a way to change the shape
of what the timelines hold.
You watch the mountains change their caps,
the saplings grow wider,
see the decay of walls
and erection of new ones.
Eyes stare back at you,
weary, withered, hopeful.
They think you have the answer.
They think your shoulders are right to take the weight.
Inside, you are crumbling.
Inside, the water is building,
pushing ever against the dam.
The clock’s ticking is incessant.
One day you will break,
and they will accept how human you are.
Flooding everyone with the rawness.
By then, I will return,
and mend the hurts leaching you away.
Treeshallow Musings 