Onward

Spring blooms, emerging
A beacon within shadow
Warming beyond frost

You were not of poetry.  You claimed not dislike, merely disinterest. And yet, there you were.  Applauding.  Supporting. Nudging, always guiding me onward.

Summer's whisperings
Caught upon a random breeze
Azure's cooling breath

Words flourished. Nurtured by time. Nourished by faith. Bled from the heart of loving. The soul of living. The joy of simply being.  They found their way onto parchment. They breathed. And there you were...you, not of poetry, applauding once more.

Within autumn's sigh
Mingled with leaves, tears are heard
Before changing winds

Words fled. Hiding in the skirts of sadness. The cloak of grief.  The silent cacophony of doubt. But there you were again, nudging... always nudging.  I heard your smile in every word I had ever written, tasted your breath and inhaled your scent as sorrow's ink spilled upon time's parchment, felt your spirit captured in lines, and your touch in the turning of life's page.

Winter, beckoning,
A comfort now, a solace
Waits for spring to bloom

And here you are. No, you were not of poetry, not of rhyme or prose, not of a sonnet's flair or a limerick's audacity. But you were my muse and in so many ways you still are... applauding, guiding me onward , and nudging... always nudging