Distance Is And Was Poem by Kevin Patrick Brown

His distance was like a slickness of blackness and ice
Outside the trees wept with damp leaves of loss
And the arrogance of dark winter's cold drew near
Clawing the softness from every living thing.

Her needs were not clear, but the pain of her loss
was etched as sharp as a scrape in soft, timeless metal.
His soul cried to help with heart-felt compassion, but the
wise cunning of distance crafted her sad, subtle traps.

Distance it is, and Distance it was, Distance was the master
and craftsman of their simple love.

His desires of things unsaid beat inside his head like some
strange moth of passion, but when he grasped the mechanism
of his loss and pain, he could but fail in expectation of certainty
that would feed a raging thirst across arid deserts of sand.

Confusion would raise it's harsh cold chisel to chip and wear
against the heat of Love, while he and she would grapple
against the easy route of pain and recurrence, would battle
against the seduction of easy and mindless dismissal of Distance.

Distance it is, and Distance it was, Distance was the master
and craftsman of their simple love.