Maybe known is such,
that I yearn so much
for a sustaining crutch.
A sentimental touch.
I confess I was scared
from not being prepared,
nor being quite aware,
that you sit right there.
Reading a scattered mind,
searching to try and find
the larger scope of design
from what I’ve left behind.
As I write this quick letter,
storms I try and weather.
Found did I that together
vices leave us not tethered.
Together we can be better,
alone I can become fettered.
I am my own fortune teller;
I keep your warmth forever.
This peace that we share,
keep in mind I compare,
it to the dusk right where
I find my bed well aware.
That though life can consume,
through waves of monsoons,
shine so bright it is the moon
allowing light to write to you.
Friends, write what you can
with your untethered hands.
Set loose a glorious led band
so you might heal in the end.
