Blind Beliefs

Every time I come here,
The memory clouds the sky.
I feel unsettled when I leave.
It's not the rain at all I fear.
Or words you will live by,
Or the differences we all believe.
The joy loses itself as I hear
Conversations on my lips that die,
Unfitting to the words you will weave,
But recollections I hold so dear.
Lie suppressed as low as the high,
As the distance creeps closer and near.
You don't see the trend and where,
The rain's presence or why.
Those clouds don't disappear,
It's why I can no longer come here,
It's why I must say goodbye.
Heed these words and beware,
For now I no longer even care.

04.14.13
©Kerri L. Stanley