Cast the Stones

Who do you sit with
braids in a pocket
there for safe keeping
like lies in a locket.
Do not tell me who you are
when you are still unsure;
you’re not the only one I love,
but you more so than her.
When will you think back
braids on a shoulder
with none to embrace you
the winds will seem colder.
Do not tell me how I act
when you paid me no mind;
the things I did behind your back
were measurements of kind.
I have cast the stones
and seen your future showing bleak
and while you cling on for dear life
upon the steepest mountain peak
now I can see your palm slip slowly
with your grip becoming weak,
and as I wait for you to ask for help
you fall without a word to speak.


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