Of Spoken Words
I paint a picture with my tears,
by Victoria Long
that of salted sorrow.
You did all that had confirmed my fears,
till the sun announced tomorrow.
You refused to listen, when that’s all
that you do,
and speaking softly I worry for you.
I realized just how much that you hold,
the weight on your shoulders unfold.
The empty chair for the father who never was there.
You fight for the answers when life is not fair.
And here I am, weeping each day,
for that of myself when all there was,
was you in the end.
You lack motivation, how’d you find
the optimism to keep holding on?
You thought I was it,
but it’s been you all along.
Your dreams exist longer than the day
you wake to.
Do you sleep from the grief? The thing
that’s common between me and you.
You keep the truth hidden, I can’t keep
quiet the words.
You listen endlessly and that seems to
be you only choice.
To me you’re perfect, flawless although,
you don’t tell me everything
that I should very much know.
Please, my dear lover, I’ll be your keeper,
It’s not me, who’s unhappy,
what you hide keeps me in shock.
I just hope you always remember I love you.
That I’ll always love you.