Never

Them, ask we
forlorn at he
told much like
felt in spite
tells much more
than what is seen
Though,
slept art here
for me to fear
between the day
and night

Them ask we
to tell what see
between the darkest
dearest, depths
between what known
and what is shown
not much to feel,
not much to heal

desperation
is but
fell and hold
between brass fingers
crock of gold
let through to heart
let through to me
for what is not
is what is me

tell me but
hold me but
call me what
days can feel
let go not
and felt not rot
between the sweetest
tears