Simple Tales

Sometimes it’s all that I can do
To tell my simple tales:

The distant sounds of mourning doves,
The aging cry of whales

The waves that crash upon the shore,
And slowly wear it down

The graying woman, wanting
One more chance to wear that gown

The man whose cherished boyhood dreams
Have turned to mostly dust

The mother of young kids, who prays
For patience that’s a must

The couple, struggling to find
Connection they once had

The girl there in the laundry room
Who’s never had a dad.

I see them in my head, I want
These simple tales to tell

But it’s all I can do, sometimes,
To peep out of my shell

Because the me that’s really me
Is tangled up inside

I’m losing all my energy,
My focus, and my pride.

Why do I want to tell
These simples tales? It is, I fear

If I stop talking
It will be

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