You are my deepest fear and my greatest longing.

You are the ache in my bones that I can’t explain.

You are the hope of cherished affection and sweet embraces.

 

I am afraid to love you because every love in the past has failed me.

Yet I am afraid to not know love because of silencing it all these years.

 

Sometimes I think there is more potential for love welled up in my bones

Than there is love expressed in some people’s entire lives.

 

Perhaps I’m arrogant and don’t know what I’m talking about.

 

But no. I know my own heart.

And I know how completely I would give it away –

If I was only allowed.

 

I cannot even fathom the freedom that would come

From love openly displayed.

 

A kiss on the cheek,

Fingers interlocked,

Or simply a meaningful look exchanged –

Knowing full well the depth of meaning

Stored behind those bewitching eyes.

 

We are souls wrapped up in dusty skin,

Paper-thin.

With longings stretched between muscle and bone,

Achingly alone.

 

There are things we can’t say

About hearts that beat too fast

About dreams that burn too bright

About fear that bores too deep.

 

There is the silence that circles around us

When we long for the voice of another.

There is the deep clanging only we can hear

Of doors of dreams slamming shut.

 

We are humans cloaked in dreams and reality.

We yearn for one to become the other,

But reality is far darker than dreams,

And dreams are foolish when denied time after time.

 

Hope is a flickering candle

And we hold it with shaky hands.

Desperate for the flame not to go out

Needing the faint glimmer to last.

 

And last it shall,

For it has been kept alive all these years.

Not by human might, reason, or belief.

All of those have failed again and again.

 

No, it is kept alive

By the Author of Hope.

The Creator of Love.

The Giver of Comfort.

 

His hands shield the flame.

His scars reflect the light.

My name engraved in His palm.

My worth decreed by His voice alone.

 

He is my deepest joy and my greatest comfort.