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"Thanks for bein’ there all this time, Friends."

Solace

“How are things?” They say to me.
A pleasant friendly inquiry.
How can I tell them how I feel?
They did not know my dream was real.

They thought I seemed content until,
A sadness flooded in to fill,
This heart that you had dwelled inside,
And warmed me in the eventide.

They think that with you gone that I,
Can not find solace though I try.
That with an emptiness in me,
There is no room for ecstasy.

A hollow space would fill me up,
Prevent my drinking from the cup?
How can they think that you would go,
And not remain inside me so?

That you are with me even now,
Your hand in mine as we did vow.
We could not ever come apart,
Because we share each other’s heart.

Your laughter rings in silent rooms,
That others think are soundless tombs.
Your smile can brighten every day.
How can they think you’ve gone away?

My father walks beside me still,
He gives advice, and always will.
My mother sings as she once did,
When lifting up the stewpot’s lid.

The life she spent in serving others,
She gently nurtured in my brothers.
Indeed in all who came around,
Each came to find what she had found.

That life alone is but a seed,
Incapable of worthy deed.
But when the light of love shines in,
The roots take hold, the vines to spin,

Entangling all in matted grip,
That even death can not make slip.
The raindrop tears of daily woes,
Are soaked up in the childlike toes.

And winds of passion and of fear,
Which bring destruction circling near,
Are but the welcome cleansing breeze,
To wash the dust from sturdy trees.

No, I am never quite alone.
I’m filled inside with thoughts my own,
Of days spent laughing, having fun,
Relaxing when our work was done.

They see me smile and think that I,
Just reminisce of days gone by.
They cannot know I feel more joy,
Than when I was a little boy.

I knew not then that pain could hurt,
I didn’t know that girls could flirt,
There was a world I couldn’t see,
And now it lives inside of me.

My struggle now is just to show,
The happiness I’ve come to know.
How can I share with them this thrill?
The ones I love are with me still.

NicknamedBob . . . . . March 1, 2004