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by Logan
Rated: E · Poetry · Romance/Love · #2249698
An ode to the things it is possible to want too much
Muted Beats

A gift of time, a gift of love,
wrapped clumsy from the start;
mumbled, fumbled, not enough,
muffled from the heart

Stumbling through hurdles, slumped,
I used to fly so high;
so easily I used to jump,
before it mattered... why?

Why now, do I second guess?
I used to have control;
an easil worn, a canvas stressed,
beneath a painted soul

Stained such different colours, schemes,
so many different shades;
the places faces touch our dreams,
the spaces that they've made

Venues booked, left empty, stark,
locations disavowed;
whilst tickets bought long tempt me, mark,
attractions not allowed

with senses stunned and sights not seen,
discarded hopes, unspent;
guarded depths, long fathomed, dreamed,
and posts no longer sent

For fear that they may not take,
the pressure that they bring;
pray the lord my soul to break,
this puppet from its strings

A muppet, slave to things not bought,
not wanting to commit;
a puppet on a string, that's caught,
a need you can't admit

A want, you just can't let go, sticks,
a dream that won't take flight;
a symphony of echoes, quick,
wing terrors through the night

Skipping over common ground,
that should have been explored;
raptures, drowning, lost and found,
'midst oceans, depths ignored

Such blue-grey eyes, light, singing bright,
on rocks, the siren plays;
with Pavlov's bell still ringing, trite,
pools burn, flames hold their sway

Electric charges burning, arced,
so close, too scared to touch;
when pages yearned, stop turning, marked,
left wanted far too much

Desired from the outset, longed,
a gift of time, of love;
offered out, with doubt set strong,
... sometimes it's not enough
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