Just One

Fri, 05/05/2017 - 04:17 -- soceur

"There are many who's

crimson does not hover

beneath your skin.

Many who did not bend

the shape of your nose,

craft the shell to

your ear or

weave circled threads

of blue-gray.

There are so,

so,

many.

 

Look at them all:

the ones who passed by,

those unseeing,

those who promised to root

themselves and instead

followed the stream. Those

cast adrift and the stones

at your feet--your foundation.

Look at them.

 

Now name one--

Just One--

one who did not dig

the lines of your palms

or run color through

your hair. One who

didn't fold the sound

of your words or

trace the path of

your bones--

Just One.

 

One who loves you.

One who sees you.

One that will grow

roots until the earth

has no choice but to

hold them in place until

time itself has become

meaningless and those

roots have become

stone.

Just One."

 

 "I can't.

 I can't."

This poem is about: 
Me

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