Grey is the fog of love and of war,
She's often been there, so why do I ... want ... more?
I want ... to grasp her ... in the darkest dark of the witching hour,
To hold her tight, in the brightest light of day.
And, perhaps, I want to be led quite astray.
And as Cinderella's clock strikes,
And takes her magic away,
My imperfect love, who I now prefer,
I want to feel her warmth permeate my life.
And in the darkness of the early morning,
As somehow I am yet to sleep,
My blanket tight, my pet cat upon my duvet, my pillows soft and soothing,
Staring into the tundra of night,
I imagine her, in the echoes of mine,
I dream of her as a mother to my future offspring, as my wife,
And I far from abhor the dreamy sight,
And yet, she's furniture, and there's history,
And what if these new feelings suddenly take flight,
And I could not forsake her in pursuit of night,
And what ... if, heaven forbid, it is somehow then but on one side,
We often fight, and we also do delight,
Yet, I want ... to grasp her, in day and night.
And 'I love you', means nothing,
Just words of might ... she often says them, day and night,
To me. Surely, just wind, not the force of oceans, and sight?
Yet I want ...
And I keep silent, for she speaks my name, and I delight.
And yet, the night breeze, I sensed, it became a hurricane in the morning, my dream, in it as though truth itself, is to know that night breeze, as though in romance- to romance the mystery of the hidden truth. For I love the night breeze, which so few yet can sense.
Friday, May 5, 2017
I want ...
Posted by Marc Evan Aupiais at 9:05 AM
Dad; Husband; Christian (Catholic); Irish. — News; Business; History; Civilizations; The Western World; Speech; Culture; Law. (Pronounced: Aw-Pea-Air.)
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