sometimes, the sadness steals away her heart.
there's things inside her i don't, and can't, know:
for though i love her, there's a separateness
that closeness keeps, both precious and untouched.
there are no words to cheer, no balm to heal:
there's only presence: doing what we can
and trusting that means something, in the end,
since faith is what we have at hand to use.
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Tagged: Tags Love 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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