In-Considerable Doubt

I have felt in consolable need,

Distance offers only problematic conundrum.

To consider the stars would be to forget the moon.

To consider the moon would be to forget the journey ahead.



To ensure the now, would mean to remember the past

but in turn to mis-align the future.

One can (not) apologize in advance.

One can (not, only) be caught in the maelstrom of future mistakes.



Life spent amongst people, in closer proximity,

makes one, at times, forget people further adrift.

An in-considerable doubt and offence.

Lays one’s own intrusiveness to bare



it’s naked body in itself.

One sequesters oneself away,

in part to hide from the noise of those around him.

Your part in all this...?



Infinite.

One’s life has begun to revolve around your interaction.

It frightens, excites and mystifies.

Fear of losing you runs rampant in one’s thoughts

for one’s distance and one’s carelessness



seems to bring that dread to head.

Closer to the sun, our Icarus flies,

heeding no cautionary tales of yore.

But to reach the destination of our closest star



is to burn in heavenly bliss.

To wait, leads to death, to hesitate,

to, hold, hold, hold, only brings more uncertainty.

To hope, disappointment.



One has faith, that the right path is being chosen,

to feel the warmth of your light is a goal.

But fear looms ever closer as one’s insecurities lay

me to my knees and ask only to ever question why.



Love, love, love, hold me,

but cast me aside if one cannot break from distraction.

As I am, as I have said, I am not perfect, I am not an angel.

One is only Icarus, sworn to burn before he has ever reached his destination.

So one waits, eventually curls away, distraction leading me further adrift.



Consternation, ever present, one feels that one is doing enough to satisfy,

only to realize, I have done nothing correct and have never taken notice.



Begging now, wanting to prove that his whole heart is with you,

he stammers, he waits, he attempts to provide reason.

For naught but your approval. Adrift, at sea,

on melted wings, his shortcomings, the sun, still unobtainable.



His sandstone reasoning, his thoughts, quickly melt away

all left, only the nakedness of the truth within him.

Wanting to say, I love you. Again. Again. Again.

Yearning, yet careful as both past, present and future,



cast only more doubt in his ability. My ability.

To show proper, DUE, affection.

To be everything you’ve pedestalled me to be.

To only show, more the cracks and peels



As your sun bakes my skin.

I cry, but I cannot answer.

I open my mouth, to speak.

“My Love!”



And even at this.

Even here.

I cannot live without you.

To say, “I understand.”



Would incur insult.

To say, “I’ll do better.”

Offers no promise.

To say, “I’ll be here.”



Offers no solace.

I wish I could be more.

To be that which you want me to be...

to be that which I’ve promised I’d be.



I can only offer what I’ve in principle,

Always offered.

Me.

And that is, my painful uncertainty,



my indescribable feelings for you,

but my describable short-comings.

Warned you, I had of these.

But I can only offer this.



I offer me. I want to be.

Yours. Yours alone.

But know...I am here.

Flawed, in considerable doubt.



To face the trials,

The tribulation.

The slings and arrows.

And much like Hamlet.



A decisiveness will come.

And I am here beside you.

I am here to be with you.

To love and respect you.