She Is Light

Trying to remember the immortal words penned by Shakespeare,
"But soft, what light through yon window breaks? Tis the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise fair sun and kill thine envious moon."
Ah, to write as such. The brilliance of a pen to capture the heart of the one we cherish.

My words, as I laugh, do not even compare. But still, I can't help but to try.

Then let me try.

The light that I see, her brilliance she does not recognize.

The sunlight upon my bed, so warm and soft. The glow as an ember given for comfort.

The moonlight, dancing through the window. Gentle and loving, caressing with it's beams of beauty.

The starlight that glistens as I gaze into the wonder that she is. Sparkles of magic held deep within her eyes.

The firefly, dancing. Only joy as it flickers. Running here and there as a child in a meadow of flowers.

The reflection as I gaze upon the waters of life. Her light reflecting with each wave, knowing that over and over, she is still there.

The light, what light? Does it matter? Does she have a name?


Bringing beauty and wonder to a majestic world filled with turmoil. Overcoming the shadows of my night with the caress of her care.

Touching my soul with a warmth and radiance that this world can not take. Sparkling and glistening, dancing in the night sky.

Always hope. Always dreams. Always a wonder I have yet to describe.

But for me, tis but light that brightens the darkest corners.

For me, does it matter the name?

For me, she is light.

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Jul 11, 2010