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

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