The Cathedral
Through those stained windows to her soul, you see...
when she begats love, she becomes a panacea.
She leans in deep, and gives him her in silence,
gives him her in her sleep.
She will hold his storms with steady grace,
while she wears his burdens on her face.
Her words are not fleeting,
for she speaks in more than fleeing acts.
And she will wait within his shadows,
light in hand — a quiet force that helps him stand.
Her dreams shift to shape his space to fit his skies.
She sees his truth behind his lies, his cries, his rise.
And though she bends, to give much more than she will ever take,
she breaks not — for she is blended and banded tightly to his soul.
Beaming proudly in his predatory strength because she is his…
A place of worship for his prayers.
His resilient reflection, his revered renewal.
His Cathedral.
To the woman who holds storms with grace, and becomes sanctuary without asking — you are not just loved, you are revered.
