A hope, deferred.
An obliging smother to
the light,
A hope without belief.
A fear without fright.
Your hand raised to me,
Like winds to the limbs
of some rotten tree.
Your smiled turned,
bleak.
The angry whimsy
of your fist & feet.
And the pain moved aside,
Settled embers,
After a fire.
The front of a storm,
The laud of the first born,
The roomed shires of the forlorn.
Hope sprung from
a freshwater brook.
an insight,
with no look.
Settlers in some foreign place,
The movement of anguish,
in your face.
I wanted nothing more
Than to be a cherished moon
among your shore.
all the truths
beyond the lore.
giving less
when I needed more.
And nights...
Came and went.
And no stars fell here,
My heart swollen
with fear.
Eggshells underneath,
My hope,
beneath this breach.
And, you were like
edgy things.
and I was not pure.
our love was not
sure.
The funnel of some cloud,
The whisper shattering
the loud.
The dead leaves neath
the tree
that can bear no more rings.
The opera,
where no diva sings.
There was.
There is
an end
to all my hope
to all our dreams
to all our means.
to all these things
Jason Christopher Johnson
