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abhainn

New member
This may seem odd to you.

Moments like this, I sit, and weep.
Silently, freely, thoroughly,
Like a river flows.

When it's all been bundled and collected,
Preserved and savoured
When it's time to let it go,
Let it run, let it flow.

The other day in the train,
In my mind
The quiet endurance of my father.

Never asking, never demanding
A thing for himself.
Always standing
For others

Made me cry.
What a missed opportunity,
To be alive.

The other day at work
Patient notes,
Family History of
Cancer; Mother, at 40; Survived.

Made me cry.
What a fright, what a battle.
Had to get it down

On the New Patient Information Form.
Just to share the scare.
So frightening
But she's still here.

Yes, you would find this odd.

Sometimes, like now,
I sit.
And cry.
Like a bloody river,
Or the gushing falls.

For the battles, and the losses,
Defeats or victories
For us, in love.

For all the times we didn't trust.
For all the times we opened up,
And for all the times we did not.

For all the times we lost.

For all the times
I did not meet you
Bare in the open.
And for all the times
I did.

For all the times
I hid behind my fears
Insecurities
Inadequacies.
As did you.

For the times
I did not meet you.
For all the times
I was not there.

For all the times,
You were
Elsewhere.

You would find this odd.

I weep.
For all we did not give
And for all that we did.
This is
What tears are for.

For you and me.
For the sore perfection
In utter imperfection.

Tears are for here.

This may seem odd to you.
Please pay attention.

I weep
Ease my grip
Let you leave,
Let you rip.

Words
Do not cover this.
Tears do.
 
Last edited:
Thanks nycindie,

If double posting is ok, I might do that. This was a poem... which is not to say it is not a story. Or a beginning of one. Or an end. Who's to say?
 
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