Whispered Wanderings

The love I thought we had, to me, was sacred;
Turns out, you said it wasn’t really love.
Well maybe, just perhaps, it was a whisper
of something like it, something just as fragile.
At night in darkness, when there is no moon,
I’ll sit inside my room and light a candle.

So in my darkened room there burns a candle,
in honor of the things I still hold sacred.
It sits upon the sill, my erstwhile moon,
reminding me my heart can still feel love.
Don’t have to be afraid, although it’s fragile;
can be expressed in soft and lonely whisper.

Last night before I slept I heard a whisper,
that came from the direction of my candle.
The sound so sweet, so dear, and yet so fragile,
it brought a truer meaning of what’s sacred.
In that blessed moment all I felt was love,
And thought not seen, I knew came from the moon.

I closed my eyes so I could see the moon,
before I spoke in barely o’er a whisper:
I humbly and with peace professed my love
and felt the warmth returning from my candle.
We must take care with things we know are sacred;
Not all are built to last and so are fragile.

I guess I never understood that fragile
applies to almost all under the moon.
That’s why all those we love we must hold sacred,
and talk about them only in a whisper.
We lift in honor with the lighted candle,
Those in our world who fill our lives with love.

So when you’re thankful for the ones you love
Remember, love of self is sometimes fragile:
take time to sit alone, and light a candle;
then close your eyes, and look upon the moon.
You might just hear (but only in a whisper)
“I love you” in a quiet voice so sacred.

Though what I felt was sacred, was not love,
it did contain a whisper, likewise fragile.
I missed the moon, and so I lit a candle.

klm
5/26/24