I cross lines not made for me
He sails across my stormy sea
I break rules when he is not around
He has the strength to carry my frown
Where I see apocalypse
In his view is an eclipse
Though my cross is more than I can carry
He offers a hand so it is less heavy
My troubles are handled by the soul of a clown
Despite my flaws he continues to carry my crown
Distance befalls the soul as a crucifix
Navigating ghostly tides to find each other’s lips
© Delia Ross. 2019
