I'm sitting in my room,
Crying silently as I stare out the window,
And listen.
...
You’ve been there for me when I was weak,
Tired, cranky or plain old not well.
You took care of my hair when I was puking,
Smoothed it to calm me down.
...
Life’s a mess of sorts,
Like a story waiting to be finished.
When the only time it is,
Would be the end of the story.
...
The Lark's Song
I'm sitting in my room,
Crying silently as I stare out the window,
And listen.
I hear a tiny song,
One that is not delicate or strong but yet it's both,
At the same time.
A lark.
I turn to look,
It's so frail.
But something gives it a fierce look.
My heart pangs to comfort it.
As I look at the face,
I see someone,
Me.
When it sees me,
It gives the same start.
But it sings on.
Tiny and confident,
Poor thing.
But I tilt back my head,
And let my voice,
Take me where it may.