If I have said it,
then stop here.
It will do you no good
to hear my complaining.
Why I try to find answers
to questions I haven’t posed.
Like going through a cave without light.
What? What?
As I go along feeling my way.
Should I be terrified
or progress with faith?
Where is my foot stepping?
Did I destroy something beautiful?
Where is the sound of the earth’s heart?
Why does the dark
have walls harder than stone?
Should I say such things
when day shines so brightly?
Why can’t I leave well enough alone
and not burden words?
Trying to say what I am trying to say.
Why does beauty consume me?
Why do I talk about love
so much, so much?
Who stands by me when I sleep
saying,
his face is peaceful,
he is a child,
he needs so much comforting.
Why is he here?
And I wake,
wondering who it was.
Who did I talk to?
Who do I miss
that I can’t remember?