, , ,

They gave you an inch
but you wanted a yard
I offered you a day
but you demanded a year
we laid at your feet
a wingspan,
a breadth of leniency,
but you raged and cursed the miles
you’ve done nothing to earn,
the hours of road that would
not absolve you or your
remorseless footsteps,
the world that isn’t easy,
the waterfall you couldn’t
reverse at will.

You wanted the refracted
the hard reset,
you expected of a flicker
a raging fire
but are unwilling to pay the price,
to put in the work
ushering in the dawn.

I wish, like you, that lies
could fill the cracks on the bridge,
just because you had mimicked
fierceness when you said them.
I wish there were answers
you could summon with a switch,
that innocence could be told
to wait.
The apologies we could not say
seep into the earth and poison
the seeds; the children fall
not far from their mothers.
The fruits keep trying
to offer you spring
but you are busy dismantling
the summer that is just
beyond your reach.

“Twisted” by photographer Chavela Zink


You might also like:
(Note: The thumbnails don’t work on the WP app, only via browser.)