Where love’s own doubt feeds subtle fears
Her solemn ember dies
Upon quiet’s altar; borne tears
Of wanton doubts or lies

You shy – a wanderer’s escape
Beyond the hills of yore,
Your yesteryear your bane, soul shaped
Through somber, sorrowed scores.

If only you could find release,
If only you’d believe,
My Love, our love would know His peace,
I’d feel your heart’s reprieve.

And yet, I fight this fight alone,
My soul laid bare, abused;
A sundered hope which still atones
For remnants once confused

You hold my dreams, my tomorrows,
The joy for which I’d dare
To drown away your ev’ry sorrow,
And pray to be your air…


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