Through The Years
Through the years, I have thought of you quite often:
Your absence was ne'er a lacking that time could soften.
I had always hoped that our friendship would last forever-
With a prayer to God, I wished we would always be together.
Nothing could have prepared me for that fateful day-
What it shall mean, only our patient wait will say-
A wait for a time when you and I are both ready-
When our inspired hearts may be made to be steady,
To receive one another-wholly and completely,
When we learn to love one another unabashedly and repletely!
Through the years, I have found naught, with which to draw compare
To the beauty inherent in the depths of your soul-inspiring stare;
You need not be here, nor do I need be, there-
I may not make part with thee, nor would I dare;
Though the years without thee had numbered more than twenty,
Thoughts about thee had been beauteous, varied and plenty.
Through the years, our lives have been quite disparate-
Perhaps it was each of our hearts' way to prepare it
For the glorious resplendence that is our consort's refrain;
I could ne'er aspire to heights this lofty, nor would I deign.
Our parting was my sweetest sorrow, our re-acquaintance, its recompense:
Mine own soul hath gathered inspiration ever since!
Through the years, mine mind hath thusly wandered
To thoughts of the beauty you are, and the years that we squandered
In search of the ardor only we could, to each other, provide-
Though this too, was not left for us, to decide,
But rather parcel to His Grandiose Plan;
It was He alone that decided this separation's span.
Through the years, our disparate lives have yet been connected,
By a Power far greater than we know-He corrected
What was indeed our failure-that to our separation, we ceded;
Perhap we were just not prime, and knew not, what we needed;
It is no matter any longer, the solution hath been provided
Through the render of our ardor, our fate hath been decided:
What hath been yet revealed, is but to the whole, a pittance-
Our lives entire, offered to each as this burden's quittance!
Through the years, the Truth shall be revealed:
A beautiful amative comes to fruition, hitherto concealed!
A fanciful futurity depends upon but our own free will-
What it shall be, is to be decided still.
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poem by Maurice Harris
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