The Simplicity Of Love

Pure and innocent are the cries of those who in the simplicity of love weep.

Seas made of desert turn upon a tilted mind as hope calls forth the soul to keep.

Dark seas rise in angst slashing dreams of those which lie still in the dark of night.

Torrents climb like serpents across the rock of time…calling…oh calling to take flight.

An old woman weeps by the grave of her love that now eternally sleeps.

She cries out into a moonless sky; she recalls his gentle touch, and she weeps.

A pink rose by her hand is laid upon a cold and darkened black stone.

She prays in her heart to what seems to her a silent God, and feels so alone.

Whispers in her spirit now steal away the sanity of the previous day.

She lays her head beside the rose and the cold black stone.

She feels her heartbeat as it beats alone; she cries still and softly prays.

A soft midnight wind crawls across these flat stones of time.

Scores of souls lain by twilight; lain by day all of which now sleep.

They call out on the whispering wind and softly speak to her heart and mind.

“We are no longer here, for this place in which you weep, we no

longer reside”.

For our bodies were but vessels of clay, yet our spirits live on.

So take comfort in knowing that we are alas at our true home.

Thus the old woman sighed…when I am dead…when I am gone..

I too will be at home for I now see see…I truly know the King.

J. Allen Wilson © 3/31/2010