Poetry

The Spark

January 21, 2009

I can’t taste nearly enough of sunlit days
lit, lightly, barely shining through the haze
so move slowly, lest she run for fear
because love is war, and mistakes have a higher fee

so set your anger towards the sun
that it might burn away
and when sharp-edged words come
be sure, my heart, to hold your tongue
for tenderness is the surest path
to relight the spark that was

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