We To You And I
Must we fall on a bed of glass
where eggshells feel more placid to touch.
Or do we signal yellow and red warnings,
only con-stringent on making
the unthinkable last?
Travel backwards to me
so our beginning never has to end.
What happened then,
punctured any chance of We again.
Positive outlooks seem so distant
in evanescent shades of grey.
Colors are ridiculed,
never dismissing damage before this day.
Hopeful eyes embed images
into preceding minutes.
Laughter becomes secondary
as We turns to you and I for a moment.
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