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
Because
If I stop talking
It will be
Like
I’m
not
here
Nice . Dont stop now! 🙂
I won’t… I think …
Oh Owen, this pulls the heart strings tight ❤️
Thanks. ❤️