Shouts Against Canyon Walls

The morning sun steals away the night and the stars sleep.

A man stands on a precipice of tomorrow and silently to himself dreams.

He thinks but to touch; to feel, to shout hope against canyon walls.

He tastes in his heart the tenderness of her hand and recalls.

For he longs to touch and to feel the warmth of what is now real.

Oh sweet senses that now evade, like the sun of the night, which steals.

Now on the abyss he ponders the day and yet he still softly dreams.

With a heart of love to give away, he longs to taste of touch and the joy it brings.

He now hears his own echo come back from his shout of hope against canyon walls.

He watches the falling sun slip beneath the purple mountains; he hears starlight once again call.

He sleeps now on the hope of tomorrow, he dreams of simple things like touch.

He has so much love left to give, and longs to simply embrace his secret dreams to love so much.

J. Allen Wilson © 6/30/2009****Full Moon Production 7/4/2009