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Whispers of the Season Whispers of the Season, reflections of the past, desires for the future bound and held so fast against the weary memory and the green and red hued fray, thoughts adrift in misery, bound in stress of day. Tucked amidst the green of the merry Christmas tree will there be found within a bough a wish or two for me? Closing eyes so very tight, holding breath against the fear that Santa has nothing in his sack to bring relief or cure for what desires lay hidden and what sweet passions die deeply in a woman's soul expressed in murmured sigh. Is there a word unqualified, acceptance without question or the softest feathered touch from one who finds my company spun; with laughter and sweetened muse, passion's dark bold embrace, intelligence and confided lore smiles upon a tear-stained face. Tentative vunerablity, giggles of secrets shared, inspiration's electricity desires subtly compared, the avid focus of attentive eyes from one who feels the same? Look within and see the shadows faintest flutters exclaim, there is a heart unfettered, bathed in my name's echoed cry, and in enchanted evenings a baby's lullaby. Tell me it be possible there is one other soul bound with whispered dreams unequaled, complete and whole. Is there fashioned another that will with me share, glistening poinsettias, silver bells, into a glowing fireplace stare? I don't believe that elves have packed Santa's bag with things I write or that he is aware of the pull of scented flickering candlelight. Shimmering in magical Christmas mist does Mrs Santa hint so blissful, of limpid pools of breathless wonder when miracles are possible? If she does, there may be a chance, slim perhaps but still, perchance there is something in Father Christmas' fill for a lady with a silent wish who can't quite abandon hope that one day somewhere amongst the tinsel and the unsealed envelopes there will be an unwrapped gift tucked in the gleaming holiday decor the marvelous breathtaking surprise of simply being adored. |
Additional Notes:
Ok, a month late, Indulge me. . .
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