Oh Solace, come, I'm giving you your space.
I've brought you to this quiet, sacred place
So you can, as your able, find your voice:
So speak then as you can,
And I will hear.
For Comfort is a thing of blue and gray
Like mist upon a lake at break of day
That calls the very sinews to rejoice:
So spread your screen and show,
And I will watch.
So Consolation, I would feel your hands
Upon my shoulders. We can stand, or dance;
Or play here, reveling in all these joys --
So let me touch you now,
And I will feel.
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Tagged: Tags Poetry
Published by Beleaguered Servant
Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.
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