Wednesday, May 13, 2015


You stood by the side of the road where
I lay wounded,
Bleeding, refusing to heal,
You did not stoop to lift me in your arms,
Nor pull me up by the hand.
No, you were not my hero,
Not my knight in shining armour.
You simply stood, your hand outstretched,
Just out of reach of mine.
I cried, I cursed, then cried some more,
You simply laughed, in your own strange way,
At me? With me?
Because of me?
Not that I cared.
I looked up from where I lay, laughing
Just a little at your silly grin.
No, you were not my Prince Charming,
Not my dashing Hollywood hero.
I wondered, within my mind,
Would that laughter ever fade?
Would that hand
Ever tire?
Not that I was afraid.
And I stared,
For suddenly your hand seemed
Closer than before,
Though I knew you had not budged an inch.
And I wanted to live,
I wanted to stand.

I dreamed of the day I would hold your hand.

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