High winds, broken trees
Bypass you and buffet me
Dry skin and chapped lips
Dimpled sea, and sailing ships
One tortured soul, and one content
One fractured heart, one un-rent
Speaking, yet they don’t converse,
Relaxed, and yet still somehow terse.
Knowing of the need to talk,
Silence hits us as we walk, and
Trifling chat about the weather
“Gosh this wind is hell-for-leather “
Expend the moments for the sharing
of problems past and thoughts uncaring
Drive from me this nervousness
Fill with love this dark recess
Ignore the tourist spots admired
And bathe in waters newly fired,
For there, though most will never see
Are all the roads you’ll take with me.

Bryson Thomas