You can’t dig up old bones
And now feel a bit
Of what you felt
When you first buried them,
The mistaken notions,
The missed opportunities,
The tender words shared
In the dark of night,
A comfortable crutch
I cling to for so long
It seems like a dream,
(no longer the nightmare
I once assumed.)
The “what if” and
“Had I done things differently,”
Popping up with the slivers
Of leg bones
Or digits of fingers or toes,
The body set firmly
Into the dark soil
When it was still warm,
And perhaps still had
A heart beat.
You can’t bury love
Deep enough
To keep it from rising,
And how foolish is the man
Who intentionally goes back
To dig it all up again,
Searching for feelings
Long expired,
Only to discover
They aren’t as expired
As once presumed.
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