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It is the crack of distant thunder on a rainy summer night…
It is a handful of new-fallen snow, powdery-glistening in violet morning light;
It is hearing a two-year old try to say your name the first time;
It is the immeasurable joy of gifts under a tree
Whose promise taunts you gently;
It is knowing your heavy heart is in the hands of one
Who cares for it,
Feeling your smiles and tears
With equal facility
Favoring neither, cherishing both.
It is the assurance of knowing in your heart
You are always home
And that there is always a home for you.
It is your childs' spidery crayola drawing
Handed up to you with great pride
From shining eyes that say
"I did this for you".
It is seeing that pair of arms slide around you
Holding you securely as you face the mirror
Trying to get dressed
Secretly grateful to the very corners of your soul
That someone cares enough to come up behind you and hold you
That Way;
It is lying in bed, reaching out in the darkness
Where only empty space once was
To touch the warm and sleeping body of someone
You call your own…
It is the moment you speak privately to God
Giving humble thanks
For the potential to meet the Ideal Being within
To glimpse all that you might accomplish as a whole
Instead of the fragmented mélange
Of artful façade you meticulously maintain.
This then,
Is my own odyssey;
Seeking that particular Holiest of Grails
Knowing I am inherently unworthy
And yet fervently supplicating God
To allow me victory in my quest.
Yes,
I have love
And have had love in my life before…
But it is yours,
Dearest Man
That sets the words to music.
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