will you be the clothe that dries the deeply etched streaks,
marked on the canvass of time.
will you be the song on my lips,
the crown of endurance that finally pays off.
am I to cultivate you for another one of my Father’s children; or
will you be the broom that finally clears the attic.
I ache to say “at last!” the companion of my walk is here,
I stretch to see the crown prince deserving of “me.”
are you the joy that follows the long arduous trek in the desert, or
a stagnant stream of dead-ends.
will you be a companion of sorrows, or
will you leave me naked with tomorrows.
be the one to shed the veil,
to blot out the eons of carrying the dubious pot of clay,
heavy with its murky waters from the stream of life.
be the one.