Saturday, January 31, 2015

Count On It

If we had known
each other from birth
shared playpen, den
roots, berries
walks in open air,
maybe we could
break this glass,
let love flow
freely with no
trust one another
save one another.

But thick glass
shields if onlys,
wistful longings,
protects us
from ourselves.
We were not meant
to be together
in this life.
I will meet you
in another
on the same side
of the glass.

© Aug 16, 2013 Barbara H. Moore
(an older poem I came upon tonight.)