It's Not

It’s Not

It’s not about the roads I’ve taken,

Nor the people I’ve met, the words spoken.

Nor the dreams I’ve dreamed,

Nor the nightly visits I’ve encountered.

It’s not about the years spent in solitude,

Nor the slashing that makes me feel unglued.

Nor the cursing, the shouting, the fighting,

Nor the deafening silence, endless debating.

It’s not about love or the depths of one’s soul,

Nor the rain that beats upon my windows.

Nor the shadows, those lurking near,

Nor the ghosts that whisper in my ear.

It’s not about the times you look at me,

Nor the hollow words meaningless they be.

Nor the times you touch me reluctantly,

Nor the thoughts of years spent in insanity.

What it is, is the human life I’ve lived,

Wondering within myself how I survived.

Come now rivers of speechless tears,

Rest upon my cheek, my heart with fear.

For yesterdays were times of testing,

Upon this rock, my soul can be resting.

For no other person that I have found,

Can hold me on the inside, now that’s profound.