Burrowed, separate by a pledge.
A peace that teeters on an edge.
Painful futures consume thought.
Prospects seem to have us caught.
Caught in static states unkind.
Taught in tangled mess of mind.
Sustained by story, sustained by tale.
Sometimes it frees, sometimes it jails.
Our hold is but a grip of fear.
Will we let go and let it clear?
So much is out of our hands.
Its movement lacking in command.
But that’s not true, that can’t be.
Perhaps it’s something we can’t see.
We can’t see the part we spurn.
The place where we can always turn.
The ones who wish their very best.
The ones who give without request.
The ones who want to live in peace.
The ones whose love will never cease.
There’s answers there in friend and kin.
The spurning’s such a simple sin.
When we’ll know, when we’ll believe . . .
Just in time to see them leave.
© 2021 TheRememberings Ltd.