A scattering of quizzical looks,
A flurry of meaningful hugs,
Why must my sad lady fair
Scare as if all men are thugs?
More than a pair of kisses &
A small certain of rolled up eyes;
With a hand-to-palm reflex too old—
Ma’am, unspoken thoughts aren’t all lies!
Just gimme some shelter:
Those northern storms boil up so fast.
I’m not very sure your fear and dread
Will all night gunk us up in the past.
Lovely one retired just last week,
Congrats on your monies independent,
But risk a chance with a dancer cheek-to-cheek
Before your tired heart is completely spent.
To those eyes whose tears have shed Afghani sands—
Find your calm and take a-hold of loving careful hands.
I will be~
I will remain~
Silent as any inland sea.
My personal, private pain.
But You, dare chase away the shadows!
But You, dare speak my wee name!
Who am I without a shroud?
Who am I shorn of my shame?
To awake, to bold face the sunrise;
To awake, and glory in the day;
May I shed this foul Darkness?
May I choose my own small, little way?
Will you help as I chance the outdoors?
Can you guide me to that brave heart of yours?
My hand in your hand,
My hand led by yours,
I can try.
I will stand, to face what comes;
I will stand to plead my Truth.
Tho’ the Dire Draft ever lingers—
And the Cold Doubt readies to spring;
But to breathe free and fresh
Means absolutely everything.
Yes, boldly find your path or voice,
And we can then marvel with thee!