quiet rock

The pages are done

Writing ahead

A quiet flurry of

Activity as your soft breath

Whispers of rest calling

Letting you sleep

Whilst I attend to my purpose,

This part of me

The certainty of self

Dutiful and oftentimes

Holding in the giddy sweeping

Boyhood we never relinquish

And still the sight of you

Brings it to the surface

Like blood underneath

Skin struck with a telling blow

But I am the rock

Soft only to your touch

But steadfast and I wonder

If it blunts my appeal

But I know no other way

Than this, the purpose and

Its strength, the sustenance

And my goals, polished but not


You alongside them

And so, pages done,

I wait for you to awaken

A sleepy smile

And here comes the rush

All over again.


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