Medication

You leave me not,

You leave me never...

In pain,in recovery,

You are always there...

It always gets better in the end.
Soon after the horror grips you from within,
Leaving no trace of the spread-eagled glow
Of the morning sun,
That you flick away when it reaches your chin,
And makes you turn over the wet, spotted pillow,
Legs intertwined, and hair undone.
But somehow it always gets better in the end.

Your saddle, your gold brown saddle…
Do they still clink the way you told me?
And your mare, your dark brown mare…
Does it still frisk the way you showed me?
For I still dream of them night after night,
Though the reason has left our lives…
To ride away…
With you…to run away…

The meaning in it was lost.
Like the lingering creak when I opened the door,
And the shuffling behind the rows of books---
Left to itself to rot;
In my memory, they would all rot, books and bookstore;
Do I surrender to the death of my nook?
I could think not…
Somehow now the meaning in these fears is lost.

Your saddle, your gold brown saddle…
Do they still clink the way you told me?
And your mare, your dark brown mare…
Does it still frisk the way you showed me?
For I swell with hope to feel you again,
To run into you every other day...
To cry on...
Beside you...to fight on...

Now that it is better, so much better in the end,

The meanings in the seconds of the time spent

Is lost down the path of that hastened end.

But,though the need has left our lives,

It feels nice...to know that our ride

Is always there to bear us away need we might...

You leave me not,

You leave me never...

In pain, in recovery,

You are always there...