My Heart is at the Window

 My heart is at the window.

I lean with longing on the sill.

I am at the edge of expectation,

Waiting, waiting

to see the future form, the grace

I have wished for, the humble steps

of hope, the whirlwind ready to kiss my cheek.

My heart is at the window,

I have been here so long,

the horizon has been hidden by the leaves’ ornamentation, by pages of years, by my too small courage.

My heart is at the window.

I pray that love sweeps down the lonely road

and breaks open my heart, so sadly patient,

into the seizures of a streaming sun,

shattering me into the light that taunts my vista.

Art Blob Collage

 Pieces of something that hasn’t worked out yet in itself, but strangely works here, I think.  Says more about what’s going on inside of me now than words would.  Again, strangely pleased with this and creating it has helped to answer the questing for meaning my soul’s been on the last two or three weeks.