1764

The saddest noise, the sweetest noise,
  The maddest noise that grows,—
The birds, they make it in the spring,
  At night’s delicious close.

Between the March and April line—
  That magical frontier
Beyond which summer hesitates,
  Almost too heavenly near.

It makes us think of all the dead
  That sauntered with us here,
By separation’s sorcery
  Made cruelly more dear.

It makes us think of what we had,
  And what we now deplore.
We almost wish those siren throats
  Would go and sing no more.

An ear can break a human heart
  As quickly as a spear,
We wish the ear had not a heart
  So dangerously near.

To feel your hand in my hand,
Your words in my ear,
Your heart beneath my palm--
I would give anything.

I picture your soft voice
Chasing away the sadness
And lending hope to my broken heart.
My world feels empty,
My forces lacking.
How am I to tackle this war
With no one on my side?

True--
My God is loving;
He is strong and compassionate.
I know that in him,
I cannot fail.

But staying ahead of failure
Is not the same as finding success.
If I am to succeed,
This emptiness must be filled.
I need strength beside me,
As well as within me.

I need a hand to hold,
And a smile to return.
Why did God give you to me,
Only to let the distance keep you from me?

Some take cover from the rain,
But I know better.
I let it cleanse my
Grime-encrusted skin,
Layers upon layers of sin.  
I’ve tried to occult my faults,
But the rain knows better,
For it penetrates my guise with
Surprising ease, disarming me.
Bare skin exposed and I quiver
As eyes examine every sliver
Of who I am.
Soaked body with nature’s balm
Glistens when a ray of sunlight
Splits the gray clouds, as if
Assuring me redemption.
Some retreat when gray clouds approach,
But I know better.
My character, tempest-tossed,
Scintillates when the sun comes out.