Poetry

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The ink is dry
And my tears
Flow down
But not in sorrow
But joy escapes
Softly
Caressing the words
Written so carefully
Descriptively
Of life being lived
In another
Place.
The aroma of freshly
Baked bread
Lingers
Between the pages
And a sprinkle of cinnamon
Trickles down
And I can see her frown
As she never lets
Things get out of place—
And her sighs
Are so coherent
As I read her accounts
Of disappointments
Of frustrations with
Weaknesses
And struggles with sin.
Then there is laughter
Over the antics of the children
And the uninhibited pleasure
In celebrating their newfound
Maturity
With lofty thoughts
And feet that never
Touch the ground.
The sparkle in her eyes
Shines through
The racing of her pen.
We held hands today
Across the miles
As we touched the same paper
And read the same words
Instinctively aware of
Perceptions,
Intuition,
And
Grace
Reflecting our hearts
As
We then pray
For each
Other
Because God
Has made it
Possible
This day
To call
One another
Friend.
7/30/08
DLH

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