What a burden for three words to carry–
on their starved, rib-shown backs
rust-iron stones, chipped, dented, and squared
rock-slide rubble remnants
tucked, and jammed
into every frayed
and bursting
blue-denim pocket
the buts, the pointed condition(s)
the held memories, the indignation(s)
What a burden for three words to carry–
Is it any wonder
the words often falter?
Is it any wonder
lover(s)?
I happen to like those three words. If you suffer through the worst and are still standing, then those three words are rich in their meaning. Some stay through the good, bad, and ugly. That equals beautiful. That’s what the three words embody.