A Blessed Future

Trust an obsession
Trust a lack of obsession
Oh no, you poor thing.

I hate that noise and I hate that cold glance. it makes me a child again and the only flowers I can see are dead and dry. Look through a window and witness a disappointment, it lies buried deep in the dreams you had after returning home late from a strange wintery journey. fever, cold, the theatre, protected but alone. All those walks into a dark secret garden to make the first move, so small but with the burdens of an era, the burdens of a war and the burdens of the other war before that war. I had two wishes and I cried and cried and hoped they would come true. One came true and ended in a death, one did not come true and I am waiting for the second death. but nothing is all sadness and I have felt love too and the crumbling of a stone wall when I have wandered in with no defensiveness. pebbles beneath my feet, are you tired or are you sick, what is wrong with you. Nothing at all.