Complexities

I could paint a windfall of symphonies, the gentle brushstroke against the leaves of the lonely tree.

Or maybe chisel in stone a soliloquy that can mend the hearts of my enemies.

Whisper a lullaby to ease the quiet ride of a solemn night, disrupting the plight of the human might

Kiss the lips of a free verse with hopes to reverse the curse, cleansing the dirt that hurt them the worst.

Poke the embers of a haiku and watch how I rise to new heights, head above the clouds absorbing the beautiful sights.

Or I can open the unrequited letter and show you every paradox that's inscribed within, and every path to the journey to the end.

I can blend all of these, but that letter is the hardest one for me.
The strings of the past, knotted in chaos, a lot of emotion goes in but with little pay out.

I pray about, sit with it, look at it, try to grab it, and yet I still refuse.

I give plenty of excuses, most are useless, some seem clueless, I remain the doofus.
I can barely understand the complexities of simple human emotions, but that letter is the one I long for the most.

Funny huh? I can’t understand the simple but I want the most complex connection.
The topic of love is tough for me, not because I’m fearful of it.
Because it's like a drug to me, one hit and I’m addicted.
Can’t quit it cold turkey, so this lonely tree remains in its place.
Because I don’t want to endure the truth of needing rehab.
For now, I’ll just write the letter to myself.

So far it helps, it rekindled the passion long forgotten.
A love that was stolen.
Iced a bruise that was too swollen.

Yet, that letter still remains, and I wonder if I have the strength to open that page.
To rattle the cage that keeps the heart breaking.
Or I’m just taking my time, enjoying this ride.
Because in the end I trust everything will turn out fine.
So I won’t rush this time to open that letter, maybe just maybe.