The world is heaved
Atop delicate and caressed mounds.
The shoulders I have placed my hand
When your comfort receded you
To back away from it
At a time in peril.
Love was always thought of by priests and nuns
To be that which is to amaze
All those who embrace its presence.
All I see from you
Is the woman who wishes to push everything
To the brink of everything else.
Everything in competition,
Everything in motion,
Everything that swings
Upon the branches of solid oak,
Is what you carry.
Despite what I’ve said,
And always will,
Heave your burdens to the ends of the Earth,
And you say this is strength?
I say for you to unload the wielding
Down upon the heavy Earth.
I say what you do not want to hear
Because, love has never reached your ears.
A true offering
Of something better than a mere trial
Has been granted.
Would you reject?
Will you neglect,
And merely carry off what I’ve given
Like it is another piece atop the pile?