July 5, 2015

 

 

You ask of me,

my secret aim?

You think I toy

with life’s sweet game?

 

You ask of me,

the past to reclaim,

as if walking, easy,

over hot coals aflame.

 

You ask of me,

reveal your shame;

revisit abandoned canyons

where no joy came?

 

You ask of me,

my claim to fame?

as if to counterbalance,

some ancient blame.

 

You ask of me,

what in god’s name,

happened to make you so

metaphorically lame?

 

You ask of me,

but my only claim,

is that, in there, somewhere,

I’m still the same!

 

You ask of me,

but this the answer true;

that you know me,

as well as I know you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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