The Call Poem by George Cooke

The call makes the difference
It ignites a roar
Brings to the fore, the inference
Of what is in store.

The meeting, enlivened with tension,
Which abides inside.
It seems to make up the sensation
Once one is beside.

Glances exchanged, a feeling awakes
The wanting of strength.
Desiring passion, giving all it takes,
Going to any length.

Being lost for a second, a minute, a moment,
Wrapped in arms.
Overcome with emotion, no torment,
Just a feeling that warms.

Surmounting the initial sense of apprehension
Longing to dote.
Explore worlds often beyond conception
Wanting to go forth.

The compassion, warmth and understanding,
Hearts skipping a beat.
The rush of adoration, the irresistible feeling
Of sensing the heat.

Feelings evolving into one realm
Flashes of excitement
One allowing the other to take the helm
Awaiting the inducement.

The expression of overwhelming exhilaration
Cherishing the zeal
Moving beyond spheres of comprehension
With the power to heal.

Treasuring the momentary elations, it may provide.
Beginning to know
Valuing the experience, as divide
The feelings once more.

The affection it is hoped, remains forever.
To return to such contentment.
Much must be done to endeavour
To relive such a moment.

Few though they maybe along life's way
The harbouring of a thought,
Wishing for the realisation of such a day
May ensure that it is wrought.

Warmth and desire, hoping it would remain
Time, however, may change all
Longing for the fondness to be the same
To relish the thought, await the call.