Conflicted

He is sometimes magic
more often he's truth
what is truth? to love?
it isn't always what I need.
And that is the truth.
But. That's a paradox!
My mind keeps me so confused.
Do I move onward, keep myself fresh as a rose?
Nay, a daisy in an overflowing meadow?
Ripe with honey and nectar so sweet?
I would if my mind could let me be at peace.

Because I am always thinking of him
He crowds my thoughts, appears in dreams,
he laughs at my struggling,
but it's not as painful as it seems.
From these words,
I am doing it again.
Worry worry worry
the thoughts march one by one
until I hear the song of my heart
as it matches with the song of the world
and not his words.

They are just words.
Empty pages, meaningless
promises and
void secrets.

I can hear the strumming of a song now too
and it is mine!
Selfish? Not so much as the pining.
I egg and yearn and prod like cattle,
why treat a love like an animal?
Like a bird I will free him from this cage
and watch him fly far far away?
Not an animal!
Not as sexual!
How could he not want me?
How could he not see?

No, I need to sing this song for me.
It is time that tells everything.
But time does not sit on future wishings.
It hops and bounces and springs like air
As light and free as a river
ever flowing towards it's whims,
and this one idea will never hold.

I need to let go.