Monday, July 30, 2012

Linda M. Crate- A Poem

stranger in the room
there is a room outside with locked doors
I always stumble into its branches, thorns
have overtaken it and serve as master of
the keys when I reach for the silver keys I
am met with bloody palms; I see you within
happy without me and it aches my very soul
to know we that were once thick as thieves have
all this distance between us, you are the most
sophisticated and eloquent bloom and I am but
a wild rose overlooked by everyone even you it's
sad to know that this room will outlast us
but neither of us will be happy for you impaled
me with too many thorns and I invoked too few;
it's discouraging when two friends become strangers.