Too long in the frying pan,
With the temperature up too hot,
What started off as cooking,
Is now burning to the spot.
Although change is edging closer,
The unchanged is coiling all around.
Scortching like a fiery snake;
Like chains welded to the ground.
There's a certain complication,
That's been a plague for far too long.
But I hesistate to blame it,
For those times where I chose wrong.
Sometimes we are too comfortable,
We pick apples from the ground.
It's easier than climbing to
Where better fruits abound.
We still have an understanding,
That someday might be reached,
When we're both a little stronger,
These feelings can be breached.
Signed,
Desiree
If I were poetry I would be... Sonnet 130.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
If Lo were poetry, she'd be Shel Silverstein's Hug O'War...
http://moodymommy.files.wordpress.com/2007/09/hug_o_war_by_shel_silverstein-large-msg-116201123022.jpg
Solid reflections Des.
The part about the apples is particularly enlightening.
You involve a higher climb and therefore require a suitor with endurance and stamina... Such qualities will pay off in many other feats you shall encounter together as one. ;)
later days lovers
xoLO
Post a Comment