I spend a lot of time above a pen and before a keyboard,
trying to let you know how I feel and what you mean to me,
usually to no avail and causing greater confusion.
I’d like to somehow write away the trail of devastation
that you are now forced to walk in the name of me
making a delusional attempt to save the world.
I need to somehow write us back in time
to the place where we were little more than a rumor
and your eyes were smiling more than sad.
I wish that I could somehow write you into my heart
where you could sit quietly and hear it beat for a while
and listen to the words of my own song,
not the lyrics and message of others.
I should somehow write us a two-person tailgate,
with a honey whiskey paper cup and a six-pack
discussing life – real life – while parked under
a “Jesus is the Answer” billboard.
If I could write all of this somehow, you would
understand perfectly what words are in my head
and what my mouth is trying to say.
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