It’s the distance between guitar strings,
the separation, silent,
longing for a fingers touch,
so together they sing.
It’s the distance between butterfly wings,
and realising, it’s the pulling away,
from each other,
that keeps it floating.
It’s the distance between wolves howling,
aren’t they longing,
the moon shining,
just as lonely as mountain wind.
It’s the distance of separation from the King,
hearts ever aching,
reverberating,
longing and wanting.
Still yet, despite the thronging,
solitude remains the calling,
to knowledge of God and you,
the awakening and relief from waiting,
it’s how a poet, can keep writing.
W.E.
lonerloaner 