20-Stones a Day

I cannot carry your thoughts anymore;
your heart, weighs me to the ground.

20-stones a day you toss, to the north of my
moss-grown tree. No sun, to dry my sodden
face, left green upon your hearth each day and
dark by end of night.

Streams of light filter through - these brambles
grey in hue…, of you. Mist upon the morning
clouds as feelings block my view.

A bag on hip, filled to brim…, I bend and bow,
while picking up these stones and sticks. Lips
trembling, while juggling sins; merciless upon
your wicket whims - am I.

Lay at feet, ankles bound - hands tied to your
heart. I cannot carry your thoughts anymore;
your heart, weighs me to the ground.

But one touch from your ruthless lips, one drink
of you - drunk, I cannot move…., I cannot move.

Each day I pick up all your stones - and carry
them, for you.