I weep in the dark hours of the night,
Presently aware of your absence. I sometimes wish I did not believe What I do believe and must believe: That you were, that you are a who, not an it or an if. How can joy be bundled, Wrapped up in one so infinitesimally small? Formed, yet unformed? Given, yet taken? But my eyes well not from this knowledge, They spring, yes, from bittersweet. You, whose face I have never seen, Whose hand I have not held, See what I long for and dream of. You have touched the hand of the One I love without sight. You are unknown, yet known so well.
1 Comment
Dawn D Giehl
11/13/2020 12:24:20 pm
Profound and so deep! What a gift you have, Ty!
Reply
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorTy Perry is a writer and blogger living in metro Detroit. Archives
December 2023
Categories
All
|