For This I know:

This is not a poem as for as poems do go,

This is more in line with the ways of the heart

And how by loving much, a wrenching hurt can grow.

For I today speak simple, in the hastening of my little mind,

And I ask of forgiveness, if I ramble on about the cruelty time.

For I am struggling for the right things to so boldly, say,

And I confess, that it is the inevitable that I fear, as it creeps my way.

I wish tonight to tell you of many marvelous and wonderful things,

Yet, it is with heaviness, that my heart speaks tonight,

A heaviness, which is constant in extinguishing, hopes bountiful light.

For I speak of an angel with broken and shattered wings.

An angel, which once soared and carried my dreams.

I know her well, for she once flew so very high...

Up and past the red nebulas and even beyond Orion.

Yet now she lay still, amidst a horrible and relentless pain

Asking not only for comfort,

 but also for a shower of the healing rain.

It tears me asunder; it burdens my very soul,

For I know...I know...Oh God do I know.

So sit here do I…

with my dark visions,

 to comfort me in the night.

Thinking…of morning

Praying for something

Hoping for everything

For I know…

that time is a master of grandeur illusion

he will greet you in the morning with a gentle kiss…

Tease you in the afternoon with dreams, you usually miss,

Then come evening he brings to you the conclusion.

~ For This I Know ~

J. Allen Wilson © 2005

www.Jallenwilson.com