Who is this wearisome soul?
She shuffles painfully out of bed as another day dawns
And caresses its ending more than its beginning;
She relentlessly borrows from yesterday’s fears
And walks alone
Snared by solitary confinement while in open spaces
She bears a burden expected only to be carried by men,
Saddled upon many like her whose
Longing is to be wined and dined and revered.
She carts the scars of provocation and isolation.
See their manifestation though her eyes of longing;
Hear her sighs and gasps - exasperating;
Connect with her hungry heart of yearning.
When does her dream yet burst into beauty?
Her passions ignite serenely?
When does divine destiny replace senseless duty?
Should pillared tombstones serve as guardians to long lost love?
Should skeletal remains of desires,
Longed for, and hoped for in days of yore,
Die a thousand deaths
Before her final day of mourning comes?
She cries out, as with one last feeble breath
To the only One who truly cares and carries all burdens
And He bids her, “Draw near.”
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