Speak Up

What do you want me to say
that we were meant to be
that this thing was our holiday
our place
our passion
and that
as all things must
it faded?

If those are the words
then will they bring you comfort?

Will they place their hand over yours
when your days are long
and you can’t bear the thought of the next?

Will they brush your hair back
from over your eyes
allow you to take the very sun
deep into your soul
offer you an obvious path
to whatever place it is
that you are so desperate
yet so unwilling
to allow yourself
to go?


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