arguments, we have some

life,
balanced
on a razor blade,
as You and I
caterwaul
in the mid-day shade;

hopes and dreams
nearly succumb
to fears and screams,
and we each
worry
that we have
torn seams,
rent all that it means
to be one
out of two;

but then I remind
You,
that having found
You once again,
I will never let
You go;
and You glare at me,
with venomous slits
for eyes,
and then slowly,
ever so slowly,
I see stars
and knowing grace
replace anger
with Your sweet smile
on that soft face,
and You beckon,
as I reckon,
that we have landed
in a safe place.


April 22, 2010, for the Wifey.

Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.