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Rated: E · Poetry · Inspirational · #2175999
A poem for my best friend, whom I love...for Jared
Your Mind
You are a clear, endless, sun-filled sky
Accepting, warm and freeing, I feel
I could soar through you, forever free
Untethered, just soaking in your span
Of love and absolute acceptance
Like sky, you surround but never hold.

Your Body
You are a playful, laughing, spring breeze
Gently chasing, caressing my skin
Waking my mind and body to life
Filling my limbs with verve and delight
Like the chinook, you melt my freeze and
Warm my bones, yet you’re gone o’er night

Your Heart
You are a melt-fed mountain spring, who
Speeding down through gullies and ravines
Spills to my arid, barren desert.
Your loving attention quenches me,
And heals my thirsty and lonely heart.
Yet, when spent, it dries and cracks again.

Your Soul
You are a solitary, bright star
Shining across light-years of black space
To a clear, and silent, arctic sky
Pure and stark with fierce unwavering
Your truth glows, unapologetic
From distant galaxy, faith, undimmed.

Please, don’t think that I understand you.
Sky is too formless to comprehend.
I can feel the breeze, but cannot see.
And the spring dances through my fingers.
Star-fire may shine, but it does not warm.
You are beautiful in your wildness.

We are a fox and mouse, never friends,
But neither are we true enemies.
A relationship born of hunger.
Taking turns, each predator and prey.
Feeding and killing one another.
Being reborn again and again.

It seems we’re guided more by instinct,
And not by fully conscious choices.
With pure hearts, and benign intentions,
There is no malice in the hunting,
But the outcome remains as brutal.
Joyful, Soft, Cunning, Untamable.

The challenge remains, can I conquer?
Do I have the fortitude to wait?
Or will Spring find us as empty husks?
Will our flower be hearty enough?
Or will it be replaced by new growth?
Nature will march forward, relentless.

She disregards our fragile, small lives
As we hang in precariousness,
As your will, implacable as time.
Your instinct-driven path will decide
Which is the future of what we share?
It is neither in your hands, nor mine.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2175999