"Poetry and hums aren't things which you get, they're things which get you. All you can do is go where they can find you" – A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh
I scramble for you, alone in the night.
Berated by the coldness I find in the light.
I cannot love in the ways that you can,
That is the pain in this lifelong plan.
My husk of a body was shook by a touch
from a soul that still gives a little too much.
Forgive my unkindness, I tread a slow path.
My footing is gently afraid of your wrath.
Those days that benighted my soul in your dusk,
that left me tarred and shivered by lust.
I was lost and I am lost in this lack of tears,
unhealthy dams left empty from fears.
Here found wanting as we creep to today,
In this hallow bed with foundations of clay.