The weight in your sigh aches my shoulders.
The plea in your eyes stings mine.
And beneath the fear and frustration
under the why-not's and the how-come's
shackled forever to the what-if's
My forever is shackled.
And forever, the why's are not,
and the hows won't come,
and I'm frustrated about the ifs.
The blame in your shrug flogs my reason.
The tension in your fingers burns mine.
But I smothered your hopes and my own--
I watched them wriggle and whine and wail
Plea and prostrate and protest,
until all was still.
And still, my protests plea,
and my wails wriggle,
and my wine prostrates.
Until my shoulders are sore.
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