What Of It?

I must scream this;
I must shriek it
aloud from the heavens:
What if
you are not the man
I have hoped for?
What if
I am only the man
that you fear?
What then?
What then
of our love
and our time together?
What then
of the moon on the river
between us,
this wide white ribbon
that can never be broken,
but must be tattered
always —
what of it?

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Go ahead -- say something. Anything.