She's in the kitchen
(close the door)
just mixin' up some metaphor;
a true conundrum
through and through
and through to me and thus to you.

Her humble hunger
(forest's slumber)
thunders 'neath a wilting tune;
tuned to too many
to count without
a thought within.

She must profess
(but shall confess)
to any who will listen;
closely she holds
a tragic history
mostly mystery to most.

She solves my soul
(I deny that hole)
which she still fills;
overflowing always
with such unrelenting joy
that is My Love.

"This
is a familiar scene for me;
You,
with your eyes on the road,
and myself,
watching the sights
as we pass them by.
There
are so many things
that I
want to ask of you,
so many questions
to be answered,
and yet,
there is a quiet
between us,
that which we also share;
the familiar sound
of silence;
the sound
of all the things
you didn’t say.”

The sun will
Give way
To the moon,
This day will
At last
Be done with.
And my
Hollow heart
Can learn
To beat
Once more.