Though discontent, I bide my time,
And spout my words in a hurried rhyme,
And wish for wistful happenings
That should be found in a million things,
Like morning dew or sunset glow,
Or the graceful fall of powder snow.
And I must wait. Discontent am I
To just blow kisses at the sky.
To be gazed upon, and feel the fire,
That draws me in and lifts me higher,
To feel the warmth is not enough;
I must be burned by this growing love.
In restless hurting and thirst for more,
Im wishing youd break down my door,
And despite the gaze Im not satisfied
With just blowing kisses at the sky.
Theres not enough of you with me
And I must go on, unhappily,
And never see what I want most-
Tis fleeting, obscure, like a ghost.
And life stampedes in glassy blur,
And of only one thing I am sure:
Theres not enough of you, so why
Must I blow kisses at the sky?
Is there a reason I must wait,
Be always from you separate
And only feel you fleetingly,
Wishing you were here with me
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