Words
Words in life
are easily scorned,
derisively decided worthless
and yet;
I hear it, whispering through the wind,
welcome in anticipation...
your voice.
Sealing those canvasses
shut.
Waiting, on words
the brushed bruising of lips,
quickly accepting of my own
two, too blushed,
too blooming.
It is not just words I wait on
but your touch;
crushing the chasm inside
to build me.
Only then can the sparrow nestled on my chest
fly - fly free
to your arms.
Oh - encompass me?
Copyright © Bethany Chipperfield | Year Posted 2012
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