Wednesday, August 31, 2005

The Choice


I hear my song on a guitar playing to a girl's magnetic smile.
I wrote the soft verses being whispered there under a sparkling sky
to her ear studded with a perfect pearl.
I see a hand shyly reaching for another,

which is delicate, which is shining.
I almost feel young lips brushing tentatively on
cheekbones well-defined.
I smell the blooms picked gently for their pale colors,
to match her dress.

She is carried, for she is light, and their feet are bare.
Their breaths now in unison,
They are alone on this quiet night --
the world respecting the beam in their eyes;
the rush of their blood;
the truth in their souls.

Violins sway while the trumpets flare
and more promises are made to her
who is The One, for she was born dainty.

I write to dream about him, for I am strong.

-- by Ella, May 1999

I actually wrote this based on my imagination, only to find out years later that 'tis true. 'Tis true. Perhaps I should now write something that has a happy ending. My happy ending.

1 Samuel 16:7 "The LORD does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart."

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