sitting in these words, there she stands

i wait for her calling.

in the darkness i hide,

but in the hope i stand tall –

and i wait for her calling.

 

if she reached her hand on out,

i would catch her.

if she reached her hand on out,

i would hold her.

 

in the painting there she poses,

her face is turned,  yet all to whom – no one knows!

there,  in the pressed crimson dress,

she stands in the words and speaks in the silence.

all in a silence that reflects of a falling midnight snow,

the beauty that is her!

 

all the doubt i hold,  dwells and seeks –

 

i wait for her calling.

in the darkness i hide,

but all in the hope i stand tall –

and i wait for her calling

 

though,  through a simple eye connection

and in a dreamed waltz, one gets vague direction

how can passion ever be forgotten?

to deny the desire is to kill the hope

 

in the painting she stands,

her face is turned,  yet all to whom – no one knows!

there,  in the pressed crimson dress,

she places herself  in the words and speaks in the silence.

all in a silence that reflects of a falling midnight snow,

the beauty that is her!

 

all the doubt i hold,  dwells and seeks –

when the mind protects and shelters the heart from the wounds

the heart’s strength ignores warning and udders, screams emotion –

and patiently finds that she is the unfinished story in and of my life.

 

i wait for her calling!

in the darkness i hide,

but all in the hope i stand tall –

and i wait for her calling

 

c. 2014 bgw

2 Replies to “sitting in these words, there she stands”

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