his lies made you so very sick,
but my truths made the ground under your feet too slick;
free of him, but just out of my reach,
dancing by yourself in the corner,
while I look on with envious eyes:
I would love to be that corner;
but I'm too far up the mountain for you;
you can hear me well enough,
but the clouds get in the way;
I only hope that I lose my footing,
and tumble down to you:
what a dream.
December 31, 2008, for She Who Cannot Be Named.
Copyright © 2008, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.