Why would the question even pass my lips?
What source would ever flow so freely?
How does the feeling grow?
Having festered so long and low.
What is it that lays on the ground
Playing with sound
What is it coaxed from my chest
The truth hurts so much more that I'm cruel
Burn the blistering nerves on my skin
Every emotion once hidden within
And now out writhing, screaming in angst
Miserable feeling I must lose again
I want the wide path, wind cool and sweet
With the smell of wild onion and wisteria
I want the simple peace
Fallen pecans and dogwood trees
I want this
It makes me simple
But it's still true
I have no gate to close
Just my heart