Moving On

I am tired of my makeshift world,
canvas tents under which I live each day;
And beds, that are made,
of quilts with little comfort;
I cannot have more tea,
in tin cups;
I cannot bathe,
in the ponds and lakes;
I want a home,
that does not move,
and absolute;
I want to stay,
in this moment feeling your loss
hurting, cursing, the crushing pain;

I want a heart that does not stray,
does not say,
“moving on…”

© soulreserve 2015

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