The imagining, the imaging,
the inspiration, the longing
and the expecting
All so fragile, sometimes arriving shattered
But from all this escapes
a dancing, beckoning, embracing light
of unwrapped, untied devotion
to who we are when we are naked.

Anticipation, the deceptive brute
that distracts our senses
with its menaces
gifting a blinded genesis
that kills a romance
And we become the villain
that becomes spurned and driven
to stop and bathe in love given

Anticipation, awed by another
being a father or mother
wishing to be that secret lover
we urge to discover
And we become the bubble
accused of toil and trouble
if we bounce light when we wobble

Each day, my pulse beats heartier
Betraying my need for calm
Tonight she comes again
That darkest night has past
and all anxiety becomes forgiven.

I now relish every second
Because her stay with me is way beyond
Light that any moon can wax and form
Light that calms every storm
into an agonising bliss of believing

feels better than a moment
to explore and trust.
Sitting by the fire
watching the flames get brighter
until night dissolves.

Woodland Bard 2015

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