Fist Fight with Thistles.

Wake me up again.
So I can hear the sound of a gentle whisper.
Echoed again in a way
that cuts like the thistles.
I can hardly make out
you words from the distance.
You may reach, but your words will not
breach the walls of a heart unwilling
to greet.

Our hearts pound like fists.
Rain rains with the weight of your lists.
Of forget me nots and quotes alike.
They give momentary bliss followed by
the way even the eldest of us miss.

"I want to see you." we say to others
But they both know it's meant for another.
God's eyes upon us, without glances, his
word is our promise;
Drag it through the vines or the thistles
aligned to come out on the end where our
souls are intwined tying knots in the
way we say I love you each day burying
pasts far away never to be heard of again.

Our hearts pound like fists.
Rain rains with the weight of your lists.
Of forget me nots and quotes alike.
They give momentary bliss followed by
the way even the eldest of us miss.

My own head isn't high enough
Even my own words tend to fly
Over and above for me to reach
far too high.
Sight is a bearing only an old
soul would know for he had won
what he fought for with his love
by his side.

I have lost many battles which I fought
'til the end.
Literal harsh endings when I should have
just given in.