Who is this that calls me from my latent apathy,
Why is this good; rescuing heart from lovers atrophy,

My desperate mewling reached further than a shout,
Stumbling toe scraping limp took me further, packed more clout,

I was lied to thinking that you’re bottomless ration,
Could be earned, could be bought with acts of compassion,

I was indulging in hurt, abiding in poetic romantic pain,
I was thrashing around bellowing at nothing needing to blame,


Why is this love for me when I am wasting all my energy on a treadmill run
Who is this that holds me light, gentle as the moon, source of the sun