The Lover
It was a sultry summer day,
The air lay thick and still.
The leaves hung flaccid on the trees,
As if slumbering in a deep sleep.
No birds were to be heard
For they were hiding from the heat.
The awful quiet was deafening,
And the utter stillness unrelieved.
She pondered about her life
As she stood silent in the field.
Oh, there is nothing new, she thought,
There is nothing but an interminable ennui.
Immense clouds hung still above her
Like enchanted continents in the sky.
Yet she missed each single one of them,
Her eyes might’ve well been shut.
There was just emptiness, she thought,
And a tedious town, and a hollow life.
Her mind was made up about that place,
She was right, she thought, and she would never budge.
She hardly noticed it at first,
For she was pondering her woes and fears.
It first tickled her earlobe,
Then it softly blew into her ear.
Likely a vexing fly, she thought,
As she swayed her hand next to her head.
But then it fondly stroke her neck,
And slowly crept beneath her dress.
It tenderly caressed her legs
With the subtle touch of a satin sheet.
She scarcely felt it, and then dismissed it,
And returned to tallying her hardships.
But it had come for her, from so far away,
To be so readily refused.
It had rushed across valleys, ascended great mountains,
As only a fervent lover would.
Rejected yet not dismayed,
It refused to be dismissed.
You are my great love, it breathed, and I am yours,
And enwrapped her whole body with bliss.
Seized from her cares, and in extreme delight
She swung her arms open wide.
And as she did, the aged world,
Now a little new, appeared before her eyes.
But the merciful breeze had moved on.
It continued on its broad track.
The lover, foreteller of change,
And defeater of heat and murk.
Copyright © Sergio Silveira | Year Posted 2013
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