bruised knuckles and broken toys

a lion’s lost roar
a child’s forgotten sense of play
a surcease of dreams to cultivate,
and a laurel bed on which to lay

a lullaby, these words, to sleep and forget
that a lifetime of almosts is one of regret

the longer I live
the more that I find
the things I need most
are the dreams left behind

I don’t wish for peace or comfort.
complacent – too close to death
I crave the place I have to face
my desire to count each breath

not callous, not simple, not shallow or clothed
but bared and complex, deep and exposed

not careful, not quiet, not restrained or delayed
but reckless and furied, freed and remade

not counting the rings in the circles I’ve walked
but remembering the falls and the danger I’ve stalked

you can promise the solace of a path well traveled and tested
and I’ll show you my scars where the best have been bested

tell me what’s safe, what’s right and what’s true
and I’ll tell you my way is not the right way for you.

now tell me you’re listening
and I’ll tell you this:
a life that’s worth living
is too easily missed