by M Teresa Clayton
I’m not naïve or simple-minded.
I’ve chiseled my name at every mountain summit,
Drowned in an ocean of my own tears,
And learned to breathe and swim to its depths in spite of it.
I do not need to be reminded
Of something that I have never had or understood.
There is no reference in my years,
Tell me, how should I know this is bad or this is good?
You think me weak? Or somehow blinded?
I can see the future, my dear, the possibilities.
What changes it is simply our fears,
But if we believe, they become probabilities.
Though I’ve never been able to find it
Doesn’t mean it wasn’t patiently waiting for me.
Love, when it’s ready, always appears,
Just about the time our eyes are opened to see.