Still I cling, holding those past times.
Below the surface lies regret
from knowing all the tension climbs.
The weight unceasingly besets

the peace of mind missed dearly so.
When I recall the days then bright
with you, the pain subsides although
the break is brief and I, despite

a need of closure, do not heed
the voice inside trapped by bars my
dread placed. And so the scars still bleed.
The voice begs me to rectify.

Still I cling, hoping I’ll someday
push myself, leave the pride behind,
and dial the phone and find a way
to free the tension -- free the mind.