In The Coming Dark

I knew you,
before I became another.
I held you,
kissed you,
before I was promised.
Childhood secrets,
things shared behind closed doors
— hopes and dreams and fears.
And if I am never the one
your father would choose to love you,
perhaps we will yet find our own acceptance,
our own peace,
our hands to hold,
in the coming dark,
and without anyone
but one another
we will have found enough.

No tags for this post.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
This entry was posted in Fiction, Love Poems, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Go ahead -- say something. Anything.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.