In swift desolation to a myraid call
A tug at a heart would light the spark
To what it is I have been waiting for
By choice we soon rejoice to its beckoning call
A swift resolution in time well spent in thought
A shoulder to cry filter through the agony inside
A place to cry,
Mere shivers align a place to hide
Away from the impulse or that of drive
To laugh then dream a dream within
To beg or borrow from an elaborate decorum;
A tug at the heart through heaven's door
The inner call to stand tall
Amidst the pain within the enemy's flame;
A chance to play the blame game,
A warm hug or that of shrug to love
A viable glance yet to last in this dance
A tug at a heart will light the spark
To what it is I have been waiting for,
Lest of course I shall resign to implore
Hence the opened door to heaven's floor!
