Whispers

If I had expected a glow of green light or even blue it did not appear. If I had expected the painted man to intervene, he had not come. Who was I to say that what I came here for was done. There had been greater forces at work here. If I had expected not to wake, I had been mistaken. I was too young to know that I would be mistaken many times in my life.

.. can you ...
can you .. live
for me

An echo reverberated through me and in my darkness I held tight to it. I held tight to all that I believed in. With that strangled grip I turned with defiance to a distant summons. The dirt beneath my fingers was curled tight into my palm.

The plains, my plains, my home.

The answer was a whispered ... yes.

And with it, I surrendered to the peacefulnes of sleep, aware only of arms that lifted me with a gentility.

As an unperfect actor on the stage,
Who with his fear is put beside his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart;
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love's rite,
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O'ercharged with burthen of mine own love's might.
O! let my looks be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love, and look for recompense,
More than that tongue that more hath more express'd.
O! learn to read what silent love hath writ:
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.