In the aisle of all I can remember.
A supple rain trickling slowly,
Falling without a sound,
Lying heavy on my eyelids.
Surrounded by a voice of color
that is shouting above the vivid greens
and pastels that taunt me
with a scent I will always remember.
I close my eyes but where is my
soft spoken sanctuary,
why does the rain waken my sleepy aching heart?
I have held every thing close to you
and know the rain does not weep,
and the wind does not groan,
and a trickle is silent and soft
that falls to my feet.
If only I could see above the weeping rain
and speak into all the colors of my life
with a booming voice that lifts high
above the yearning sounds of my lost self confidence,
Than I could be reborn in you
and put this aching heart in the warmth of everything
I plead for lost in the empty voice
of a weeping rain....
You have hidden me in the beauty
of everything I desire in you.
Search softly to my aching heart
The sound of your voice is all I will here,
and I will taste the sunrise in your lips,
and free myself in everything I have become inside of you
by Timothy Michael Flaherty