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by Laurel Johnson
Iíve had my times
but nothing will be whole until I find you.
I missed you in the Highlands.
You died young.
Through bogs and moors I searched,
alone and lonely.
I fought the winds
that howled across an ancient plain,
found fleeting passion in the waving grasses
but he wasnít you.
I scanned petroglyphs in winter,
shivering while searching for your sign
and hoping youíd be mine again.
Sometimes I can feel you in the night.
I wait for light and pray
to find your essence on me somewhere.
My imagination fools me,
or maybe itís my pounding heart
and vessels throbbing out your name.
Nothing is the same without you here
and so I wait.
-- from Color of Laughter, Color of Tears, Winterwolf Publishing