I like that you're a bit on edge about it all–
The gloom without the loss of pure emotional
Connection, doubting fortune yet maintaining hope.
The torture in your mind and body speaks to mine.
The fear of bleakened chance descends as if designs
To weaken us are formed beyond mere fortune's scope;
The fear extends from each of us, a bonding mope
We're both despondently entrapped in, like a wall
Prevents our mapped out meeting and so deigns our fall.
But ever rapt by how alike we strive, I cope,
And drive on gleefully alive; our love entwined
Has tapped a strength that never wanes if you just call.
A place for my poems 