Loving is easy,

Loving is easy,

It is the living that hurts.

Holding your warm body

Softly to my chest,

Soothes it clean away.

But everyday,

The heart grows weary.

As winter’s song

Becomes a dirge,

That drains the soul.

With every breath drawn,

A clenched fist beats

Hard against my breast,

With so much force

It wounds the flagging spirit,

That tries so much to fly,

But rarely flutters,

And so barely hangs

Together.

Even as the day grows into itself,

The passing of time,

Though filled with meaning,

Is but shadow,

And clouds my eyes with gritty tears,

That sting and bite,

As grains of sand, blinding me,

To such beauty that once, was mine to see,

And is forever marred

With loss of innocence,

And the truth

Of grief’s cruel irony.

It is but luck,

And latent strength,

That finds me

Stumbling through

The fog of days,

And draws me, once more

Home to safety.

Where, I lie with you.

And give thanks,

To have this chance,

Of claiming a redeeming love,

That might come to be,

The greatest truth,

That doth, both make, and take me.