He will say the words endlessly, he would
she would listen with bated breath
quietly, struggling silently to believe
in the cavalry of his conviction.
The winds, they were their witness, how they echo
each syllables, echoes so savage,
their whip slicing the gravitating groves,
growling, groaning yet glowing with unyielding darts.
Yet she will listen,
struggling to quell the river of doubts slowly engulfing her
their rippling robes cascading softly down the nape of
fear for what-not-with, if not so?
For we know, most times we know, though we remain bound
like sheep at the slaughter to the sacred songs
spellbound – our sandals shoved stubbornly in the sands
of un-receding shores of salient sounds
of what we know but fail to say,
these lyrics that we fail to sing
now threatening to sink our withering resolve
of knowing, but un-knowing refusing and accepting,
standing yet cowering before the sacred vows
sealed, unyielding yet completely yielded!
