It’s not just a word, it’s a gulf,
not just a step but a fall.
And it’s not just a touch, it’s a life,
a life to be lived when it’s gone.
So rue us for being us
with our hearts bound up long ago
and our coffee made more bitter
with tears: too proud to remember,
too silly to forget
and too us to understand.
Thank you for reading Too close for comfort. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it and I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain. As always, I look forward to your comments.
© 2012 by John Etheridge; all rights reserved. This poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License. This applies to all original work found on this site, unless noted otherwise. The attribution claimed under the license is: © 2012 by John Etheridge, https://bookofpain.wordpress.com.