At the Edge of My Wit

This poem is a re-blog, which is presented again as an opportunity for those who missed it to discover the piece.

Have a great day.

Chris T.

Instinct tells me
This is worsening.
I have ventured previous
With you in the laughter lane.
At times with such joy all was good.
And at other times, well all was good
Now like a file on a nerve.
You are an ache
Which I cannot relieve.
So how has this happened?

I was for so long,
Un-diagnosed and safe.
I loved as though
Immune to you.
Now my calculus is become
Like a failed camouflage;
Which it is.

It turns out I have hidden
Too long and even within my breathing.
An admission so simple;
My love of you.
This has crazed the edge
Of my wit.

I am become
Like that
Of a Younger Self,
By Truth
The Younger Poet,
Uncertain, still uncertain
And again in writing, unsettled.

© 2019 Christopher Thompson All rights reserved.

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